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HBY- RICHARD VATSON-GILDER- 






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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



LYRICS AND OTHER POEMS. 



LYRICS AND OTHER POEMS, 



RICHARD WATSON GILDER. 



r. L YRICS AND HYMNS. 
If. BALLADS. 

III. SONNETS. 
IV. ODES AND MEDITA TIVE POEMS. 
V. THE NEW DAY. 



A ' 






°r wa- 



NEW YORK: 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

1885. 






Copyright, 1875, by 
Richard Watson Gilder. 

Copyright, 1880, by 
Richard Watson Gilder. 

Copyright, 1885, by 
Richard Watson Gilder. 



CONTENTS. 



LYRICS. PAGE - 

• A Christmas Hymn 3 

■Hymn: Sung at the Presentation of the Obelisk . 5 

Morning and Night 8 

A Song of Early Summer 9 

A Midsummer Song 11 

us the Wild Rose Tree" 13 

A Song of Early Autumn 14 

A Woman's Thought 16 

'•A Word Said in the Dark" 18 

"After Sorrow's Night" 19 

Before Sunrise 20 

"The Woods that Bring the Sunset Near" . 21 

" o sllyer rlyer flowing to the sea " . . 22 

" Back from the Darkness to the Light Again " 23 

" O Loye in Sorrow " 24 

"The Smile of Her I Love" .... 25 

At Night 26 

2 



V i CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Cradle Song 27 

Nine Years 28 

A November Child 30 

Reform 31 

The Voyager ....... 33 

Drinking Song 35 

Decoration Day 37 

North to the South 38 

The Dead Comrade 39 

Porto Fino 41 

♦ A Madonna of Fra Ltppo Lippi ... 43 

Essipoff 44 

"We Met upon the Crowded Way" ... 45 

For an Album 46 

Strephon and Sardon 47 

The Poet's Protest .48 

Wanted, a Theme ! 49 

" When the True Poet Comes " .... 50 

To a Young Poet 51 

Desecration 52 

Youth and Age 54 

Our Elder Poets 55 

To an English Friend 57 

"Jocoseria" 58 

The Modern Rhymer 59 



COXTENTS. 



vu 



HALL ADS. 

The River Inn .... 
The White and the Red Rose 
John Carman .... 



At Four-score 

The Ballad of the Chimney 



65 
67 

70 

75 
79 



SOXXETS. 

The Sonnet .... 

longfkllow's " book of sonnets 

The New Troubadours . 

A Sonnet of Dante . 

A Riddle of Lovers 
" When Love Dawned " 

Congress: 1878 

A Portrait of Servetus 

Modjeska 

Keats 

An Inscription in Romf. 
" Call me not Dead " . 

To a Departed Friend (J. G. H.) 
"H. H." 



Love and Death. 

> I. " Now who can take from us what we have known i 
II. " We know not where they tarry who have died " 



91 
92 

93 
94 
95 
96 

97 
98 

99 
100 
101 
102 
103 
104 

105 
106 



viii CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

• "The Evening Star" 107 

• Cost 108 

» " Day unto Day Uttereth Speech "... 109 

• Father and Child . . . . . . no 

The Celestial Passion . . . . .111 

ODES AND MEDITATIVE POEMS. 

Music and Words 115 

The Poet's Fame 117 

. The Poet and His Master 121 

Ode 126 

At the President's Grave 130 

The Burial of Grant 132 

A Lament for the Dead of the " Jeannette " 

brought Home on the " Frisia " . . » 135 

A Thought 139 

III Tidings 140 

A New World 141 

Fate 142 

• The Voice of the Pine ..... 145 

The Homestead 148 

#" Beyond the Branches of the Pine" . . . 150 

♦ An Autumn Meditation ...... 151 

• Recognition 154 



THE NEW DAY. 



PAGE 

PRELUDE 161 

PART I. 

I. Sonnet. (After the Italian) . . . .165 

II. Sonnet. (After the Italian) ... 166 

III. "A Barren Stretch that Slants to the 

Salt Sea's Gray" 167 

IV. Love in Wonder 168 

V. Love grown Bold 169 

INTERLUDE 173 

PART II. 

1. Words without Song 177 

II. The Dark Room: A Parable. 

I. "A maiden sought her love in a dark room " 178 
II. "Great God! the arms wherein that maiden 

fell" 179 

III. '• I met a Traveller on the Road " . 180 



x CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

IV. Written on a Fly-leaf of " Shakespeare's 

Sonnets " 182 

V. "And were that Best! " . . . . 183 

VI. "There is Nothing New under the Sun" 184 

VII. Love's Cruelty . . . . . . 186 

INTERLUDE . 189 

PART III. 

I. " My Love for Thee doth march like armed 

Men " 193 

II. " I will be Brave for Thee " . . 194 

III. " Love me not, Love, for that I first loved 

Thee " 195 

IV. Body and Soul. 

I. " thou my Love, love first my lonely soul! " 196 
II. "But, Love, for me thy body was the first." 197 
V. " Thy Lover, Love, would have some Nobler 

Way" 198 

VI. " What would I save Thee from ? " . 199 

VII. Love's Jealousy 200 

VIII. Love's Monotone 201 

IX. " Once Only " 202 

X. Denial . 203 



COXTENTS. xi 

PAGE. 

XI. "Once when We walked within a Summer 

Field " 204 

XII. Song 205 

XIII. Listening to Music 206 

XIV. " A Song of the Maiden Morn " . . 207 
XV. Words in Absence 208 

XVI. Song 209 

XVII. Thistle-Down 210 

XVIII. "0 Sweet Wild Roses that Bud and Blow." 211 

XIX. The River 213 

XX. The Lover's Lord and Master . . 214 

XXI. " A Xight of Stars and Dreams " . . 215 

XXII. A Birthday Song 216 

XXIII. "What can Love do for Thee, Love?" . 217 

XXIV. Francesca and Paolo .... 219 
XXV. The Unknown Way 220 

XXVI. The Sower 222 

XXVII. " When the last Doubt is Doubted " . . 225 

INTERLUDE 229 

PART IV. 

I- Song 233 

II. The Mirror 234 



xii CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

III. Likeness in Unlikeness .... 235 

IV. Song 236 

V. All in One 237 

VI. " I Count my Time by Times that I meet 

Thee" ........ 238 

VII. Song 239 

VIII. The Seasons . . . . . . . 240 

IX. " Summer's Rain and Winter's Snow " 241 

X. The Violin 242 

XI. " My Songs are all of Thee " . . 243 

XII. After Many Days 244 

XIII. Weal and Woe 245 

XIV. " Oh, Love is not a Summer Mood " . 246 
XV. " Love is not Bond to any Man " . 247 

XVI. "He knows not the Path of Duty" . 248 

AFTER-SONG 251 



LYRICS. 




A CHRISTMAS HYMN 



^T^FXL me what is this innumerable throng 
± Singing in the heavens a loud angelic song? 

These are they who come with swift and 

shining feet 
From round about the throne of God the 
Lord of Light to greet. 



Oh, who are these that hasten beneath the starry sky — 
As if with joyful tidings that through the world 
shall fly? — 



4 A CHRISTMAS HYMN. 

The fearful shepherds these, who greatly were 

afeared 
When, as they watched their flocks by night, 

the heavenly host appeared. 

in. 

Who are these that follow across the hills of night 
A star that westward hurries along the fields of light ? 
Three wise men from the East who myrrh 

and treasure bring 
To lay them at the feet of him their Lord 
and Christ and King. 

IV. 

What babe new-born is this that in a manger cries ? 
Near on her lowly bed his happy mother lies. 

Oh, see the air is shaken with white and 

heavenly wings — 
This is the Lord of all the earth, this is the 
King of Kings. 



HYMN. 



HYMN: 

SUNG AT THE PRESENTATION OF THE OBELISK TO THE 
CITY OF NEW YORK. FEB. 2 2, 1 88 1. 



Great God, to whom since time began 

The world has prayed and striven ; 
Maker of stars, and earth, and man — 
To thee our praise is given. 
Here, by this ancient Sign 
Of thine own Light divine, 
We lift to thee our eyes 
Thou Dweller of the Skies, — 
Hear us, O God in Heaven ! 



Older than Nilus' mighty flood 
Into the Mid-Sea pouring, 



HYMN. 

Or than the sea, thou God hast stood, — 
Thou God of our adoring! 

Waters and stormy blast 

Haste when thou bid'st them haste; 

Silent, and hid, and still, 

Thou sendest good and ill: 
Thy ways are past exploring. 

in. 

In myriad forms, by myriad names, 

Men seek to bind and mould thee ; 
But thou dost melt, like wax in flames, 
The cords that would enfold thee. 
Who madest life and light, 
Bring'st morning after night, 
Who all things did'st create — 
No majesty, nor state, 
Nor word, nor world, can hold thee! 

IV. 

Great God, to whom since time began 
The world has prayed and striven; 



// 1 JAV, 



Maker of stars, and earth, and man 
To thee our praise is given. 

Of suns thou art the Sun. — 

Eternal, holy One : 

Who can us help save thou ! 

To thee alone we bow ! 
Hear us. O God in Heaven! 



MORNING AND NIGHT, 



MORNING AND NIGHT. 

The mountain that the morn doth kiss 
Glad greets its shining neighbor : 

Lord ! heed the homage of our bliss, — 
The incense of our labor. 

Now the long shadows eastward creep, 

The golden sun is setting : 
Take, Lord ! the worship of our sleep,- 

The praise of our forgetting. 



A SOXG OF EARLY SUMMER. 



A SONG OF EARLY SUMMER. 

Not yet the orchard lifted 
Its cloudy bloom to the sky, 

Nor through the twilight drifted 
The whip-poor-will's low cry; 

The gray rock had not made 
Of the vine its glistening kirtle; 

Nor shook in the locust shade 
The purple bells of the myrtle. 

Not yet up the chimney-hollow 
Was heard in the darkling night 

The boom and whir of the swallow 
And the twitter that follows the flight 

Before the foamy whitening 
Of the water below the mill; 

Ere yet the summer lightning 

Shone red at the edge of the hill — 

4 



A SONG OF EARLY SUMMER. 

In the time of sun and showers, 
Of skies half-black, half-clear ; 

'Twixt melting snows and flowers; 
At the poise of the flying year; 

When woods flushed pink and yellow 

In dreams of leafy June ; 
And days were keen or mellow 

like tones in a changing tune — 

Before the birds had broken 
Forth in their song divine, 

Oh ! then the word was spoken 
That made my darling mine. 



A MIDSUMMER SOXG. n 

A MIDSUMMER SONG. 

Oh, father 's gone to market-town, he was up before 

the day, 
And Jamie's after robins, and the man is making 

hay. 
And whistling down the hollow goes the boy that 

minds the mill, 
While mother from the kitchen-door is calling with 

a will, 

"Polly! — Polly! — The cows are in the corn! 
Oh, where's Polly?" 

From all the misty morning air there comes a sum- 
mer sound, — 
A murmur as of waters from skies, and trees and 

ground. 
The birds they sing upon the wing, the pigeons bill 

and coo, 
And over hill and hollow rings again the loud halloo: 
"Polly! — Polly! — The cows are in the corn! 
Oh, where's Polly?" 



12 A MIDSUMMER SONG. 

Above the trees the honey-bees swarm by with buzz 

and boom, 
And in the field and garden a thousand blossoms 

bloom. 
Within the farmer's meadow a brown-eyed daisy blows, 
And down at the edge of the hollow a red and 
thorny rose. 

But Polly! — Polly! — The cows are in the corn! 
Oh, where 's Polly ? 

How strange at such a time of day the mill should 

stop its clatter! 
The farmer's wife is listening now and wonders what 's 

the matter. 
Oh, wild the birds are singing in the wood and on 

the hill, 
While whistling up the hollow goes the boy that 

minds the mill. 

But Polly! — Polly! — The cows are in the corn! 
Oh, where 's Polly ? 



ON THE WILD ROSE TREE." 13 



ON THE WILD ROSE TREE.' 

( )x the wild rose tree 
Many buds there be, 
Yet each sunny hour 
Hath but one perfect flower. 

Thou who wouldst be wise 
Open wide thine eyes, — 
In each sunny hour 
Pluck the one perfect flower ! 



14 A SONG OF EARLY AUTUMN. 

A SONG OF EARLY AUTUMN. 

When late in summer the streams run yellow, 
Burst the bridges and spread into bays; 

When berries are black and peaches are mellow, 
And hills are hidden by rainy haze ; 

When the golden-rod is golden still, 

But the heart of the sun-flower is darker and sadder ; 
When the corn is in stacks on the slope of the hill, 

And slides o'er the path the striped adder. 

When butterflies flutter from clover to thicket, 
Or wave their wings on the drooping leaf; 

When the breeze comes shrill with the call of the 
cricket — 
Grasshoppers' rasp, and rustle of sheaf. 

When high in the field the fern-leaves wrinkle, 
And brown is the grass where the mowers have 
mown ; 

When low in the meadow the cow-bells tinkle, 
And small brooks crinkle o'er stock and stone. 



A SOXG OF EARLY AUTUMN. 15 

When heavy and hollow the robin's whistle, 
And shadows are deep in the heat of noon ; 

When the air is white with the down o' the thistle, 
And the sky is red with the harvest moon ; 

Oh then be chary, young Robert and Mary, 
No time let slip, not a moment wait! 

If the fiddle would play it must stop its tuning, 
And they who would wed must be done with 
their mooning. 
Let the churn rattle, see well to the cattle, 
And pile the wood by the barn-yard gate ! 




1 6 A WOMAN'S THOUGHT. 



A WOMAN'S THOUGHT. 

I am a woman — therefore I may not 

Call to him, cry to him, 

Fly to him, 

Bid him delay not ! 

And when he comes to me, I must sit quiet 

Still as a stone — 

All silent and cold. 

If my heart riot — 

Crush and defy it! 

Should I grow bold — 

Say one dear thing to him, 

All my life fling to him, 

Cling to him — 

What to atone 

Is enough for my sinning ! 



A WOMAN* S THOUGHT. 17 

This were the cost to me, 
This were my winning — 
That he were lost to me. 

Not as a lover 

At last if he part from me, 

Tearing my heart from me — 

Hurt beyond cure, — 

Calm and demure 

Then must I hold me — 

In myself fold me — 

Lest he discover; 

Showing no sign to him 

By look of mine to him 

What he has been to me — 

How my heart turns to him, 

Follows him, yearns to him, 

Prays him to love me. 

Pity me, lean to me, 
Thou God above me! 



1 8 "A WORD SAID IN THE DARK. 



A WORD SAID IN THE DARK. 

A word said in the dark 
And hands pressed, for a token ; 

" Now, little maiden, mark 
The word that you have spoken; 
Be not your promise broken ! " 

His lips upon her cheek 
Felt tears among their kisses; 

" O pardon I bespeak 
If for my doubting this is ! 
Now all my doubting ceases." 



-AFTER SORROW'S NIGHT." 

"AFTER SORROW'S NIGHT.' 

After sorrow's night 
Dawned the morning bright. 
In dewy woods I heard 
A golden-throated bird, 

And " Love, love, love," it sang, 
And " Love, love, love." 

Evening shadows fell 

In our happy dell. 

From glimmering woods I heard 

A golden-throated bird, 

And " Love, love, love," it sang, 
And " Love, love, love." 

Oh, the summer night 
Starry was and bright. 
In the dark woods I heard 
A golden-throated bird, 

And " Love, love, love," it sang, 
And " Love, love, love." 



r 9 



2 o BEFORE SUNRISE. 



BEFORE SUNRISE. 

The winds of morning move and sing, 
The western stars are lingering; 
In the pale east one planet still 
Shines large above King Philip's hill; — 

And near, in gold against the blue, 
The old moon, in its arms the new. 
Lo, the deep waters of the bay 
Stir with the breath of hurrying day. 

Wake, loved one, wake and look with me 

Across the narrow, dawn-lit sea! 

Such beauty is not wholly mine 

Till thou, dear heart, hast made it thine. 



THE WOODS THAT BRIXG THE 
SUNSET NEAR." 



"THE WOODS THAT BRING THE 
SUNSET NEAR." 

The wind from out the west is blowing, 
The homeward-wandering cows are lowing, 
Dark grow the pine-woods, dark and drear v 
The woods that bring the sunset near. 

When o'er wide seas the sun declines, 
Far off its fading glory shines, 
Far off. sublime, and full of fear — 
The pine-woods bring the sunset near. 

This house that looks to east, to west. 
This, dear one, is our home, our rest; 
Yonder the stormy sea, and here 
The woods that bring the sunset near. 



O SILVER RIVER FLOWING TO 
THE SEA." 



"O SILVER RIVER FLOWING TO 
THE SEA." 

O silver river flowing to the sea, 

Strong, calm, and solemn as thy mountains be ! 

Poets have sung thy ever-living power, 

Thy wintry day, and summer sunset hour ; 

Have told how rich thou art, how broad, how deep; 

What commerce thine, how many myriads reap 

The harvest of thy waters. They have sung 

Thy moony nights, when every shadow flung 

From cliff or pine is peopled with dim ghosts 

Of settlers, old-world fairies, or the hosts 

Of Indian warriors that once ploughed thy waves — 

Now hurrying to the dance from hidden graves; 

The waving outline of thy wooded mountains, 

Thy populous towns that stretch from forest fountains 

On either side, far to the salty main, 

Like golden coins alternate on a chain. 



"BACK FROM THE DARKNESS TO THE 23 
LIGHT AGAIN:' 

Thou pathway of the empire of the North, 
Thy praises through the earth have travelled forth ! 
I hear thee praised as one who hears the shout 
That follows when a hero from the rout 
Of battle issues, " Lo, how brave is he, — 
How noble, proud, and beautiful ! " But she 
Who knows him best — "How tender!" So thou art 
The river of love to me! 

— Heart of my heart, 
Dear love and bride — is it not so indeed ? — 
Among your treasures keep this new-plucked reed. 



" RACK FROM THE DARKNESS TO THE 
LIGHT AGAIN." 

" Back from the darkness to the light again ! " — 
Not from the darkness, Love, for hadst thou lain 
Within the shadowy portal of the tomb, 
Thy light had warmed the darkness into bloom. 



2 4 



O LOVE IN SORROW!" 



"O LOVE IN SORROW!" 

O Love in sorrow ! sorrow, Love, no more ; 
Though dark the night, the morning cometh fast : 
Though black the ocean, bright the circling shore. 

Not long we labor at the wearying oar, 
For lo! strong love upholds the fallen mast: 
The storm but hurries us where we would be — 
Beyond the driving winds and raging sea. 



THE SMILE OF HER I LOVE: 



25 



"THE SMILE OF HER I LOVE." 

The smile of her I love is like the dawn 
Whose touch makes Memnon sing: 
O see where wide the golden sunlight flows — 
The barren desert blossoms as the rose ! 

The smile of her I love — when that is gone, 
O'er all the world night spreads her shadowy wing. 



2 6 AT NIGHT. 



AT NIGHT. 

The sky is dark, and dark the bay below 
Save where the midnight city's pallid glow 
Lies like a lily white 
On the black pool of night. 

O rushing steamer, hurry on thy way 
Across the swirling Kills and gusty bay, 
To where the eddying tide 
Strikes hard the city's side! 

For there, between the river and the sea, 
Beneath that glow, — the lily's heart to me,- 
A sleeping mother mild, 
And by her breast a child. 



CRADLE SONG. 



CRADLE SONG. 

In the embers shining bright 
A garden grows for thy delight, 
With roses yellow, red, and white. 

But, O my child, beware, beware! 
Touch not the roses growing there, 
For every rose a thorn doth bear. 



28 NINE YEARS. 



NINE YEARS. 

Nine years to heaven had flown, 
And June came, with June's token — 

The wild rose that had known 
A maiden's silence broken. 

'Twas thus the lover spoke, 

And thus she leaned and listened : 

(Below, the billows broke, 

The blue sea shook and glistened,) 

" We have been happy, Love, 

Through bright and stormy weather, 

Happy all hope above, 

For we have been together. 

" To meet, to love, to wed — 
Joy without stint or measure — 

This was our lot," he said, 

" To find untouched our treasure. 



NINE YEARS. 

" But had some blindfold fate 
Bound each unto another — 

To turn from Heaven's gate. 

Each heart-throb hide and smother! 

" O dear and faithful heart 
If thus had we been fated; 

To meet, to know, to part — 
Too early, falsely, mated ! 



29 



" Were this out bitter plight, 

Ah, could we have dissembled ? " 

Her cheek turned pale with fright; 
She hid her face, and trembled. 



3° 



A NOVEMBER CHILD. 



A NOVEMBER CHILD. 

November winds, blow mild 

On this new-born child ! 

Spirit of the autumn wood, 

Make her gentle, make her good ! 

Still attend her, 

And befriend her, 

Fill her days with warmth and color; 

Keep her safe from winter's dolor. 

On thy bosom 

Hide this blossom 

Safe from summer's rain and thunder! 

When those eyes of light and wonder 

Tire at last of earthly places — 

Full of years and full of graces — 

Then, O then 

Take her back to heaven again ! 



REFORM. 3 1 



REFORM. 



Oh, how shall I help to right the world that is 

going wrong! 
And what can I do to hurry the promised time of 

peace ! 
The day of work is short and the night of sleep is 

long; 
And whether to pray or preach, or whether to sing 

a song, 
To plow in my neighbor's field, or to seek the golden 

fleece, 
Or to sit with my hands in my lap, and wish that 

ill would cease ! 



I think, sometimes, it were best just to let the Lord 

alone ; 
I am sure some people forget He was here before 

they came ; 



32 REFORM. 

Though they say it is all for His glory, 't is a good 

deal more for their own, 
That they peddle their petty schemes, and blate and 

babble and groan. 
I sometimes think it were best, and I were little to 

blame, 
Should I sit with my hands in my lap, in my face 

a crimson shame. 



THE VOYAGER. 



33 



THE VOYAGER. 



" Friend, why goest thou forth 
When ice-hills drift from the north 
And crush together ? " 

" The Voice that me doth call 
Heeds not the ice-hill's fall, 

Nor wind, nor weather." 

ii. 

" But, friend, the night is black ; 
Behold the driving wrack 

And wild seas under ! " 

" My straight and narrow bark 
Fears not the threatening dark, 
Nor storm, nor thunder." 

7 



34 



THE VOYAGER. 



III. 



" But oh, thy children dear ! 
Thy wife — she is not here — 
I haste to bring her!" 

" No, no, it is too late ! 
Hush, hush ! I may not wait, 
Nor weep, nor linger." 

IV. 

" Hark ! Who is he that knocks 
With slow and dreadful shocks 
The walls to sever?" 

" It is my Master's call, 
I go, whate'er befall ; 

Farewell forevei." 



DRIXX/XG SOXG. 



DRINKING SONG. 

I. 

Thou who lov'st and art forsaken, 
Didst believe, and wert mistaken, 
From thy dream thou wilt not waken 

Whc?i Death thee shall call. 
Like are infidel, believer, — 
The deceived, and the deceiver, 

When the grave hides all. 

II. 

What if thou be saint or sinner, 
Crooked gray-beard, straight beginner, — 
Empty paunch, or jolly dinner, 

When Death thee shall call. 
All alike are rich and richer, 
King with crown, and cross-legged stitcher. 

When the grave hides all. 



35 



36 



DRINKING SONG. 



III. 



Hope not thou to live hereafter 
In men's memories and laughter, 
When, 'twixt hearth and ringing rafter, 

Death thee shall call. 
For we both shall be forgotten, 
Friend, when thou and I are rotten 

And the grave hides alL 



DECORATION DAY. 37 



DECORATION DAY. 

1. 

She saw the bayonets flashing in the sun, 

The flags that proudly waved ; she heard the bugles 

calling ; 
She saw the tattered banners falling 
About the broken staffs, as one by one 
The remnant of the mighty army passed; 
And at the last 
Flowers for the graves of those whose fight was done. 

11. 

She heard the tramping of ten thousand feet 

As the long line swept round the crowded square ; 

She heard the incessant hum 

That filled the warm and blossom-scented air, — 

The shrilling fife, the roll and throb of drum, 



3 S NORTH TO THE SOUTH. 

The happy laugh, the cheer. — Oh glorious and meet 
To honor thus the dead, 
Who chose the better part 
And for their country bled ! 

— The dead ! Great God ! she stood there in the street, 
Living, yet dead in soul and mind and heart — 
While far away 

His grave was decked with flowers by strangers' 
hands to-day. 

New York, May 30, 1877. 



NORTH TO THE SOUTH. 

Land of the South, whose stricken heart and brow 
Bring grief to eyes that ere while only knew 

For their own loss to sorrow, — spurn not thou 
These tribute tears, — ah, we have suffered too. 

New Orleans, 1885. 



THE DEAD COMRADE. 39 

THE DEAD COMRADE. 

At the burial of Grant, a bugler stood forth and sounded "taps." 
I. 

Come, soldiers, arouse ye ! 
Another has gone : 
Let us bury our comrade, 
His battles are done. 
His sun it is set; 
He was true, he was brave, 
He feared not the grave, 
There is nought to regret. 

11. 
Bring music and banners 
And wreaths for his bier, — 
No fault of the fighter 
That Death conquered here. 

Bring him home ne'er to rove, 
Bear him home to his rest, 
And over his breast 
Fold the flag of his love. 



4o 



THE DEAD COMRADE. 



III. 
Great Captain of battles, 
We leave him with thee ! 
What was wrong, O forgive it; 
His spirit make free. 

Sound taps, and away! 
Out lights, and to bed ! 
Farewell, soldier dead ! 
Farewell — for a day. 




PORTO ITXO. 41 

PORTO FINO. 

I know a girl — she is a poet's daughter, 

And many-mooded as a poet's day, 
And changing as the Mediterranean water; 

We walked together by an emerald bay, 

So deep, so green, so promontory-hidden 
That the lost mariner might peer in vain 

Through storms, to find where he erewhile had ridden, 
Safe-sheltered from the wild and windy main. 

Down the high stairs we clambered just to rest a 
Cool moment in the church's antique shade. 

How gay the aisles and altars! 'Twas the festa 
Of brave Saint George who the old dragon laid. 

How bright the little port ! The red flags fluttered, 
Loud clanged the bells, and loud the children's glee : 
What though some distant, unseen storm-cloud mut- 
tered, 
And waves breathed big along the weedy quay. 
8 



4 2 PORTO FINO. 

We climbed the hill whose rising cleaves asunder 
Green bay and blue immeasurable sea; 

We heard the breakers at its bases thunder; 

We heard the priests' harsh chant soar wild and free. 

Then through the graveyard's straight and narrow portal 
Our journey led. How dark the place ! How strange 

Its steep, black mountain walls, — as if the immortal 
Spirit could thus be stayed its skyward range ! 

Beyond, the smoky olives clothed the mountains 
In green that grew through many a moon-lit night. 

Below, down cleft and chasm leaped snowy fountains ; 
Above, the sky was warm, and blue, and bright; 

When, sudden, from out a fair and smiling heaven 
Burst forth the rain, quick as a trumpet-blare : 

Yet still the Italian sun each drop did leaven, 
And turned the rain to diamonds in the air. 

So passed the day in shade, and shower, and sun, 
Like thine own moods, thou sweet and changeful 
maiden ! 

Great Heaven ! deal kindly with this gentle one, 
Nor let her soul too heavily be laden. 



A MADONNA OF FRA LJPPO LI PPL 43 



A MADONNA OF FRA LIPPO LIPPI. 

No heavenly maid we -here behold, 
Though round her brow a ring of gold; 
This baby, solemn-eyed and sweet, 
Is human all from head to feet. 

Together close her palms are prest 

In worship of that godly guest : 

But glad her heart and unafraid 

While on her neck his hand is laid. 

Two children, happy, laughing, gay, 
Uphold the little child in play : 
Not flying angels these, what though 
Four wings from their four shoulders grow. 

Fra Lippo, we have learned from thee 

A lesson of humanity : 

To every mother's heart forlorn, 

In everv house the Christ is born. 



44 ESSIPOFF. 



ESSIPOFF. 



What is her playing like ? 

I ask — while dreaming here under her music's power. 
Tis like the leaves of the dark passion-flower 
Which grows on a strong vine whose roots, oh deep 

they sink, 
Deep in the ground, that flower 's pure life to drink. 



What is her playing like ? 

'T is like a bird 

Who, singing in a wild wood, never knows 

That its lone melody is heard 

By wandering mortal, who forgets his heavy woes. 



WE MET UPON THE CROWDED WAY." 45 



WE MET UPON THE CROWDED WAY.' 



We met upon the crowded way; 

We spoke and passed. How bright the day 

Turned from that moment, for a light 

Did shine from her to make it bright! 

And then I asked : Can such as she 

From life be blotted utterly? 

The thoughts from those clear eyes that dawn — 

Down to the ground can they be drawn ? 

11. 

Among the mighty who can find 

One that hath a perfect mind ? 

Angry, jealous, cursed by feuds, — 

They own the sway of fatal moods; 

But thou dost perfect seem to me 

In thy divine simplicity. 

Though from the heavens the stars be wrenched, 

Thy light, dear maid, shall not be quenched. 

Gentle, and true, and pure, and free — 

The gods will not abandon thee ! 



46 FOR AN ALBUM. 



FOR AN ALBUM. 

(TO BE READ ONE HUNDRED YEARS AFTER.) 

A century's summer breezes shook 
The maple shadows on the grass 

Since she who owned this ancient book 
From the green world to heaven did pass. 

Beside a northern lake she grew, 
A wild-flower on its craggy walls ; 

Her eyes were mingled gray and blue, 
Like waves where summer sunlight falls. 

Cheerful from morn to evening-close, 
No humblest work, no prayer forgot: 

Yet who of woman born but knows 
The sorrows of our mortal lot! 

And she too suffered, though the wound 
Was hidden from the general gaze, 



STREPJ/OX AND SARDOX. 4 y 

And most from those who thus had found 
An added burden for their days. 

She had no special grace, nor art; 

Her riches not in banks were kept : 
Her treasure was a gentle heart, 

Her skill to comfort those who wept. 

Not without foes her days were passed, 
For quick her burning scorn was fanned. 

Her friends were many — least and last, 
A poet from a distant land. 



STREPHON AND SARDON. 

" Young Strephon wears his heart upon his sleeve,' 
Thus wizened Sardon spoke, with scoffing air ; 

Perhaps 'twas envy made the gray-beard grieve — 
For Sardon never had a heart to wear. 



48 THE POET'S PROTEST. 



THE POET'S PROTEST. 

man with your rule and measure, 

Your tests and analyses! 
You may take your empty pleasure, 

May kill the pine, if you please; 
You may count the rings and the seasons, 

May hold the sap to the sun, 
You may guess at the ways and the reasons 

Till your little day is done. 

But for me the golden crest 

That shakes in the wind and launches 
Its spear toward the reddening West! 

For me the bough and the breeze, 
The sap unseen, and the glint 

Of light on the dew-wet branches, — 
The hiding shadows, the hint 

Of the soul of mysteries. 



WAX TED, A THEME. 

You may sound the sources of life, 

And prate of its aim and scope ; 
You may search with your chilly knife 

Through the broken heart of hope. 
But for me the love-sweet breath, 

And the warm, white bosom heaving, 
And never a thought of death, 

And only the bliss of living. 



49 



WANTED, A THEME! 

Give me a theme," the little poet cried, 
•' And I will do my part." 

'Tis not a theme you need," the world replied; 
" You need a heart." 



5° 



WHEN THE TRUE POET COMES. 



"WHEN THE TRUE POET COMES." 

" When the true poet comes, how shall we know him ? 

By what clear token, — manners, language, dress ? 
Or will a voice from heaven speak and show him, — 

Him the swift healer of the earth's distress ? 
Tell us, that when the long-expected comes 

At last, with mirth and melody and singing, 
We him may greet with banners, beat of drums, 

Welcome of men and maids and joybells ringing : 
And, for this poet of ours, 
Laurels and flowers." 

Thus shall ye know him, this shall be his token, — 
Manners like other men, an unstrange gear, 

His speech not musical, but harsh and broken 
Will sound at first, each line a driven spear. 



TO A YOUNG POET. 5I 

For he will sing as in the centuries olden, 

Before mankind its earliest fire forgot — 

Vet whoso listens long hears music golden. 

— How shall ye know him ? Ye shall know him not 
Till, ended hate and scorn, 
To the grave he's borne. 



TO A YOUNG POET. 

In the morning of the skies 
I heard a lark arise. 
< >n the first day of the year 
A wood-flower did appear. 

Like a violet, like a lark, 
Like the dawn that kills the dark, 
Like a dew-drop, trembling, clinging, 
Is the poet's first sweet singing. 



5 2 



DESECRA TION, 



DESECRATION. 

The poet died last night; 

Outworn his mortal frame. 
He hath fought well the fight, 

And won a deathless name. 

Bring laurel for his bier, 

And flowers to deck the hearse. 
The tribute of a tear 

To his immortal verse. 

Hushed is that piercing strain, — 
Who heard, for pleasure wept. 

His were our joy and pain : 
He sang — our sorrow slept. 

Yes, weep for him ; no more 

Shall such high songs have birth 

Gone is the harp he bore 
Forever from the earth. 



DESECRA TIOX. 

Weep, weep, and scatter flowers 
Above his precious dust : 

Child of the heavenly powers, — 
Divine, and pure, and just. 

Weep, weep — for when to-night 
Doth hoot the horned owl, 

Beneath the pale moon's light 
The human ghouls will prowl. 

What creatures those will throng 
Within the sacred gloom, 

To do our poet wrong — 
To break the sealed tomb ? 

Not the great world and gay 
That pities not, nor halts 

By thoughtless night or day — 
But, O more sordid-false, 

His trusted friend and near, 
To whom his spirit moved; 

The brother he held dear; 
The woman that he loved. 



53 



54 



YOUTH AND AGE. 



YOUTH AND AGE. 



" I like your book, my boy, 
Tis full of youth and joy, 
And love that -sings and dreams. 
Yet it puzzles me," he said ; 
" A string of pearls it seems, — 
But I cannot find the thread." 



" O friend of olden days ! 
Dear to me is your praise : 
But, many and many a year 
You must go back, I fear; 
You must journey back," I said, 
"To find that golden thread!" 



OCA' ELDER POETS. 

OUR ELDER POETS. 

(1878.) 

He is gone. We shall not see again 
That reverend form, those silver locks ; 

Silent at last the iron pen 

And words that poured like molten rocks. 

He is gone, and we who thought him cold 
Miss from our lives a generous heat, 

And know that stolid form did hold 
A fire that burned, a heart that beat. 

He is gone, but other bards remain : 
Our gray-old prophet, young at heart, 

Our scholar-poet's patriot strain ; 

And he of the wise and mellow art. 

And he who first to science sought, 

But to the merry muses after; 
Who learned a secret never taught — 

The knowledge of men's tears and laughter. 



55 



56 OUR ELDER POETS. 

He also in whose music rude 

Our peopled woods and prairies speak, 
Resounding, in his modern mood, 

The tragic fury of the Greek. 



And he, too, lingers round about 
The darling city of his birth — 

The bard whose gray eyes looking out 
Find scarce one peer in all the earth. 



TO AN ENGLISH FRIEND. 57 

TO AN ENGLISH FRIEND, 

WITH EMERSON'S "POEMS." 

Edmund, in this book you'll find 
Music from a prophet's mind. 
Even when harsh the numbers be, 
There's an inward melody; 
And when sound is one with sense, 
'Tis a bird's song — sweet, intense. 
Chide me not the book is small, 
For in it lies our all in all : 
We who in Eldorado live 
Have no better gift to give. 
When no more is silver mill, 
Golden stream, or golden hill — 
Search the New World from pole to pole, 
Here you'll find its very soul ! 
10 



5 8 "Jocoseria: 



"JOCOSERIA." 

Men grow old before their time, 
With the journey half before them : 

In languid rhyme 
They deplore them. 

Life up-gathers carks and cares, 
So good-bye to maid and lover ! 

Find three gray hairs, 
And cry, "All's over!" 

Look at Browning ! How he keeps 

In the seventies still a heart 
That never sleeps, — 

Still an art 

Full of youth's own grit and power, 
Thoughts we deemed to boys belonging, 

The spring-time's flower, 
Love-and-longing. 



THE MODERX RHYMER. 



THE MODERN RHYMER. 



Now you who rhyme, and I who rhyme, 

Have not we sworn it, many a time, 

That we no more our verse would scrawl, 

For Shakespeare he had said it all ! 

And yet whatever others see 

The earth is fresh to you and me — 

And birds that sing, and winds that blow, 

And blooms that make the country glow, 

And lusty swains, and maidens bright, 

And clouds by day, and stars by night, 

And all the pictures in the skies 

That passed before Will Shakespeare's eyes; 

Love, hare, and scorn, — frost, fire, and flower, 

On us as well as him have power. 

Go to ! our spirits shall not be laid, 

Silenced and smothered by a shade. 

Avon is not the only stream 



59 



60 THE MODERN RHYMER. 

Can make a poet sing and dream; 
Nor are those castles, queens, and kings 
The height of sublunary things. 

ii. 

Beneath the false moon's pallid glare, 
By the cool fountain in the square 
(This gray-green dusty square they set 
Where two gigantic highways met) 
We hear a music rare and new, 
Sweet Shakespeare, was not known to you! 
You saw the New World's sun arise : 
High up it shines in our own skies. 
You saw the ocean from the shore : 
Through mid-seas now our ship doth roar, — 
A wild, new, teeming world of men 
That wakens in the poet's brain 
Thoughts that were never thought before 
Of hope, and longing, and despair, 
Wherein man's never resting race 
Westward, still westward, on doth fare, 
Doth still subdue, and still aspire, 



THE MODERX RHYMER. 



61 



Or turning on itself doth face 

Its own indomitable fire; — 

O million-centuried thoughts that make 

The Past seem but a shallop's wake ! 



BALLADS. 




THE RIVER INN. 

THE night was black and drear 
Of the last day of the year. 
Two guests to the river inn 
Came, from the wide world's bound : 
One with clangor and din, 
The other without a sound. 



• Now hurry, servants and host ! 
Get the best that your cellars boast : 
White be the sheets and fine, 
And the fire on the hearth-stone bright ; 
Pile the wood, and spare not the wine, 
And call him at morning-light." 



i j 



6s 



66 THE RIVER INN 

" But where is the silent guest ? 

In what chamber shall she rest ? 

In this! Should she not go higher? 

Tis damp, and the fire is gone." 
" You need not kindle the fire, 

You need not call her at dawn." 

Next morn he sallied forth 
On his journey to the North. 
Oh, bright the sunlight shone 
Through boughs that the breezes stir; 
But for her was lifted a stone 
Under the church-yard fin 



THE WHITE AXD THE RED ROSE. 6j 

THE WHITE AND THE RED ROSE, 
i. 

In Heaven's happy bowers 
There blossom two flowers, 
One with fiery glow 
And one as white as snow- 
While lo! before them stands, 
With pale and trembling hands, 
A spirit who must choose 
One, and one refuse. 

II. 

Oh, tell me of these flowers 
That bloom in heavenly bowers, 
One with fiery glow, 
And one as white as snow ! 
And tell me who is this 
In Heaven's holy bliss 
Who trembles and who cries 
Like a mortal soul that dies ! 



68 THE WHITE AND THE RED ROSE. 

III. 

These blossoms two 
Wet with heavenly dew— 
The Gentle Heart is one, 
And one is Beauty's own; 
And the spirit here that stands 
With pale and trembling hands - 
Before to-morrow's morn 
Will be a child new-born, 
Will be a mortal maiden 
With earthly sorrows laden; 
But of these shining flowers 
That bloom in heavenly bowers? 
To-day she still may choose 
One, and one refuse. 



IV. 



Will she pluck the crimson flower 
And win Beauty's dower ? 
Will she choose the better part 



THE WHITE AXD THE RED ROSE. 69 

And gain the Gentle Heart ? 
Awhile she weeping waits 
Within those pearly gates; 
Alas! the mortal maiden 
With earthly sorrow laden ; 
Her tears afresh they start, — 
She has chosen the Gentle Heart. 



And now the spirit goes, 

In her breast the snow-white rose. 

When hark \ a voice that calls 

Within the garden walls : 

"Thou didst choose the better part, 

Thou hast won the Gentle Heart — 

Lo, now to thee is given 

The red rose of Heaven." 



7 o JOHN CARMAN. 



JOHN CARMAN. 

i. 
John Carman of Carmantown 

Worked hard through the livelong day; 
He drove his awl and he snapped his thread 

And he had but little to say. 

He had but little to say 

Except to a neighbor's child : 
Three summers old she was, and her eyes 

Had a look that was deep and wild. 

Her hair was heavy and brown 

Like clouds in a starry night. 
She came and sat by the cobbler's bench 

And his soul was filled with delight. 

No kith nor kin had he 

And he never went gadding about; 
A strange, shy man, the people said; 

They could not make him out. 



JOHX C ARM AX 



71 



And some of them shook their heads 

And would never tell what they'd heard. 

But he drove his awl and snapped his thread, — 
And he always kept his word; 

And the little child that knew him 

Better than all the rest, 
She threw her arms around his neck 

And went to sleep on his breast. 

One day in that dreadful summer 

When children died by the score, 
John Carman glanced from his work and saw 

Her mother there at the door. 

He knew by the look on her face, — 
And his own turned deathly white ; 

He rose from his bench and followed her out 
And watched by the child that night. 

He tended her day and night; 

He watched by her night and day : 
He saw the cruel pain in her eyes; 

He saw her lips turn gray. 



JOHN CARMAN. 



II. 



The day that the child was buried 
John Carman went back to his last, 

And the neighbors said that for weeks and weeks 
Not a word his clenched lips passed. 

" He takes it hard," they gossiped, 
" Poor man, he's lacking in wit " : — 

" I'll drop in to-day," said Deacon Gray, 
" And comfort him up a bit." 

So Deacon Gray dropped in 

With a kind and neighborly air, 
And before he left he knelt on the floor 

And wrestled with God in prayer. 

And he said : " O Lord, thou hast stricken 

This soul in its babyhood: 
In Thy own way, we beseech and pray, 

Bring forth from evil good." 



J OILY CARMAN. 



III. 



73 



That night the fire-bells rang 

And the flames shot up to the sky, 

And into the street as pale as a sheet 
The town-folk flock and cry. 

The bells ring loud and long, 
The flames leap high and higher, 

The rattling engines come too late, — 
The old First Church is on fire! 

And lo and behold in the lurid glare 
They see John Carman stand, — 

A look of mirth on his iron lips 
And a blazing torch in his hand. 

" You say it was He who killed her " 
(His voice had a fearful sound): 

" I'd have you know, who love Him so, 
I've burned his house to the ground." 
12 



74 



JOHN CARMAN 



John Carman died in prison, 
In the madman's cell, they say; 

And from his crime, that I've told in rhyme, 
Heaven cleanse his soul, I pray. 




AT FOl'R-SCORE. 



75 



AT FOUR-SCORE. 

This is the house she was born in, full four-score 

years ago, — 
And here she is living still, bowed and ailing, but 

clinging 
Still to this wonted life, — like an ancient and blasted 

oak -tree. 
Whose dying roots yet clasp the ground with an iron 

hold. 

This is the house she was born in, and yonder across 

the bay 
Is the home her lover built, — for her and for him and 

their children; 
Daily she watched it grow, from dawn to the evening 

twilight, 
As it rose on the orchard hill, 'mid the spring-time 

showers and bloom. 



7 6 AT FOUR-SCORE. 

There is the village church, its steeple over the 

trees 
Rises and shows the clock she has watched since the 

day it was started, — 
'Tis many a year ago, how many she cannot 

remember : 
Now solemnly over the water rings out the evening 

hour. 

And there in that very church, — though, alas, how 

bedizened, and changed! 
They've painted it up, she says, in their queer, new, 

modern fashion, — 
There on a morning in June, she gave her hand to her 

husband ; 
Her heart it was his (she told him) long years and 

years before. 

Now here she sits at the window, gazing out on steeple 

and hill; 
All but the houses have gone, — the church, and the 

trees, and the houses; — 



AT FOUR-SCORE. 77 

All, all have gone long since, parents, and husband, 

and children ; 
And herself — she thinks, at times, she too has vanished 

and gone. 

No, it cannot be she who stood in the church that 

morning in June, 
Xor she who felt at her breast the lips of a child in 

the darkness: 
But hark in the gathering dusk comes a low, quick 

moan of anguish, — 
Ah, it is she indeed, who has lived, who has loved, 

and lost. 

For she thinks of a wintry night, when her last was 

taken away, 
Forty years this very month, the last, the fairest, the 

dearest ; 
All gone, — ah, yes, it is she who has loved, who has 

lost, and suffered, 
She and none other it is, left alone in her sorrow and 

pain. 



7 8 AT FOUR-SCORE. 

Still with its sapless roots, that stay though the branches 

have dropped, 
Have withered, and fallen, and gone, their strength 

and their glory forgotten; 
Still with the life that remains, silent, and faithful, and 

steadfast, 
Through sunshine and bending storm clings the oak 

to its mother-earth. 



THE BALLAD OF THE CHIMNEY. 79 



THE BALLAD OF THE CHIMNEY. 



My chimney is builded 

On a hill by the sea, 

At the edge of a wood 

That the sunset has gilded 

Since time was begun 

And the earth first was done : 

For mine and for me 

And for you, John Burroughs, 

My friend old and good, 

At the edge of a wood 

On a hill by the sea 

My chimney is builded. 



So THE BALLAD OF THE CHLMNEY. 

II. 

My chimney gives forth 
All its heat to the north, 
While its right arm it reaches 
Toward the meadows and beaches. 
And its left it extends 
To its pine-tree friends. 
All its heat to the north 
My chimney gives forth. 



in. 

My chimney is builded 

Of red and gray granite: 

Of great split bowlders 

Are its thighs and its shoulders; 

Its mouth — try to span it. 

'Tis a nine-foot block — 
The shelf that hangs over 
The stout hearth-rock. 



THE BALLAD OF THE CHIMNEY. Si 

Then the lines they upswell 
Like a huge church-bell, 
Or a bellying sail 
In a stiff south gale 
When the ship rolls well, 
With a blue sky above her. 



IV. 



My chimney — come view it, 

And I'll tell you, John Burroughs, 

What is built into it : 

First the derrick's shrill creak, 

That perturbed the still air 

With a cry of despair; 

The lone traveler who passed 

At the fall of the night 

If he saw not its mast 

Stood still with affright 

At a sudden strange sound — 

Hark ! a woman's wild shriek ? 

Or the baying of a hound ? 

*3 



82 THE BALLAD OF THE CHIMNE. 

Then the stone-hammer's clink 
And the drill's sharp tinkle, 
And bird-songs that sprinkle 
Their notes through the wood, 
(With pine-odors scented), 
On their swift way to drink 
At the spring cold and good 
That bubbles 'neath the stone 
Where the red chieftain tented 
In the days that are gone. 

Yes, 'twixt granite and mortar 
Many songs, long or shorter, 
Are imprisoned, I repeat; 
And when red leaves shall fall,— 
Coming home, all in herds, 
From the air to the earth, — 
When I have my heart's desire, 
And we sit by the hearth 
In the glow of the fire, 
You and I, John of Birds, 
We shall hear as they call 



THE BALLAD OF THE CHIMNEY. S3 

From the gray granite wall, — 
You shall name one and all. 



There's the crow's caw-cawing 
From the pine-tree's height, 
And the cat-bird's sawing, 
The hissing of the adder 
That climbed this rocky ladder, 
And the song of Bob White; 
The robin's loud clatter, 
The chipmunk's chatter, 
And the mellow-voiced bell 
That the cuckoo strikes well; 
Yes, betwixt the stones and in 
There is built a merry din. 

But not all bright and gay 
Are the songs we shall hear; 
For as day turns to gray 
Comes a voice low and clear — 
Whip-poor-will sounds his wail 
Over hill, over dale, 



3 4 THE BALLAD OF THE CHIMNEY, 

Till the soul fills with fright. 
Tis the bird that was heard 
On the fields drenched with blood 
By the dark southern flood 
When they died in the night. 



But you cannot split granite, 

Howsoever you may plan it, 

Without bringing blood — 

(There's a drop of mine there 

On that block four-square). 

Certain oaths, I'm aware, 

Sudden, hot, and not good 

(May Heaven cleanse the guilt!) 

In these stone walls are built — 

With the wind through the pine-wood blowing, 

The creak of tree on tree, 

Child-laughter, and the lowing 

Of the home ward- driven cattle, 

The sound of wild birds singing, 



THE BALLAD OF THE CHIMNEY. 85 

Of steel on granite ringing, 

The memory of battle, 

And tales of the roaring sea. 



VI. 



For my chimney was builded 
By a Plymouth County sailor, 
An old North Sea whaler. 
In the warm noon spell 
'Twas good to hear him tell 
Of the great September blow 
A dozen years ago : 
How at dawn of the day 
The wind began to play, 
Till it cut the waves flat 
Like the brim of your hat. 
There was no sea about, 
But it blew straight out 
Till the ship lurched over; 
But 'twas quick to recover, 
When, all of a stroke, 



86 THE BALLAD OF THE CHLMNEY. 

The hurricane it broke ; — 
Great heavens! how it roared, 
And how the rain poured; 
The thirty-fathom chain 
Dragged out all in vain. 
" What next ? " the captain cried 
To the mate by his side; 
Then Tip Ryder he replied: 
" Fetch the axe — no delay — 
Cut the main-mast away; 
If you want to save the ship 
Let the main-mast rip ! " 
But another said, " Wait ! " 
And they did — till too late. 
On her beam-ends she blew, 
In the sea half the crew — 
Struggling back through the wrack, 
There to cling day and night. 
Not a sail heaves in sight; 
And, the worst, one in thirst 
(Knows no better, the poor lad!) 
Drinks salt water and goes mad. 



THE BALLAD OF THE CHIMNEY, 87 

Eighty hours blown and tossed, 
Five good sailors drowned and lost, 
And the rest brought to shore; 
— Some to sail as before ; 
" Not Tip Ryder, if he starves 
Building chimneys, building wharves!" 

VII. 

Now this was the manner 
Of the building of the chimney. 
(Tis a good old-timer, 
As you, friend John, will own.) 
Old man Vail cut the stone; 
William Ryder was the builder; 
Stanford White was the planner, 
And the owner and rhymer 
Is Richard Watson Gilder. 






SONNETS. 



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THE SONNET. 



WHAT is a sonnet ? 'Tis the pearly shell 
That murmurs of the far-off murmuring sea; 

A precious jewel carved most curiously; 

It is a little picture painted well. 
What is a sonnet? 'Tis the tear that fell 

From a great poet's hidden ecstasy; 

A two-edged sword, a star, a song — ah me! 

Sometimes a heavy-tolling funeral bell. 
This was the flame that shook with Dante's breath; 

The solemn organ whereon Milton played, 

And the clear glass where Shakespeare's shadow falls: 
A sea this is — beware who ventureth ! 

For like a fjord the narrow floor is laid 

Mid-ocean deep to the sheer mountain walls. 
9* 



92 LONGFELLOW'S "BOOK OF SONNETS. 



LONGFELLOW'S "BOOK OF SONNETS." 

'Twas Sunday evening as I wandered down 
The central highway of this swarming place, 
And fait a pleasant stillness, — not a trace 
Of Saturday's harsh turmoil in the town : 

Then as a gentle breeze just stirs a gown, 
Yet almost motionless, or as the face 
Of silence smiles, I heard the chimes of " Grace " 
Sound murmuring through the autumn evening's 
brown. 

To-day, again, I passed along Broadway 
In the fierce tumult and mid-noise of noon, 
While 'neath my feet the solid pavement shook; 

When lo ! it seemed that bells began to play 
Upon a Sabbath eve a silver tune, — 
For as I walked I read the poet's book. 



THE XEW TROUBADOCRS. 



93 



THE NEW TROUBADOURS. 

(Avignon, 1879.) 

They said that all the troubadours had flown, — 
Xo bird to flash a wing or swell a throat! 
But as we journeyed down the rushing Rhone 
To Avignon, what joyful note on note 

Burst forth beneath thy shadow, O Ventour ! 

Whose eastward forehead takes the dawn divine: 
Ah, dear Provence ! ah, happy troubadour, 
And that sweet, mellow, antique song of thine ! 

First Roumanille, the leader of the choir, 

Then graceful Matthieu, tender, sighing, glowing, 
Then Wyse all fancy, Aubanel all fire, 

And Mistral, mighty as the north-wind's blowing; 
And youthful Gras, and lo ! among the rest 
A mother-bird who sang above her nest. 



94 A SONNET OF DANTE. 



A SONNET OF DANTE. 

("Ta7tto gentile e tanto onesta pare." ) 

So high and pure my lady as she doth go 
Upon her way, and others doth salute, 
That every tongue becometh trembling-mute, 
And every eye is troubled by that glow. 

Her praise she hears as on she moveth slow, 
Clothed with humility as with a suit; 
She seems a thing that came (without dispute) 
From heaven to earth a miracle to show. 

Through eyes that gaze on her benignity 
There passes to the heart a sense so sweet 
That none can understand who may not prove; 

And from her countenance there seems to move 
A gentle spirit, with all love replete, 
That to the soul comes, saying, " Sigh, O sigh ! 



A RIDDLE OF LOVERS. 



95 



A RIDDLE OF LOVERS. 

Of my fair lady's lovers there were two 

Who loved her more than all ; nor she, nor they 
Guessed which of these loved better, for one way 
This had of loving, that another knew. 

One round her neck brave arms of empire threw 
And covered her with kisses where she lay : 
The other sat apart, nor did betray 
Sweet sorrow at that sight; but rather drew 

His pleasure of his lady through the soul 
And sense of this one. So there truly ran 
Two separate loves through one embrace; the whole 

This lady had of both, when one began 

To clasp her close, and win her dear lips' goal. 
Now read my lovers' riddle if you can. 



96 " WHEN LOVE DAWNED. 



"WHEN LOVE DAWNED." 

When love dawned on that world which is my mind, 
Then did the outer world wherein I went 
Suffer a sudden strange transfigurement, — 
It was as if new sight were given the blind. 

Then where the shore to the wide sea inclined 
I watched with new eyes the new sun's ascent : 
My heart was stirred within me as I leant 
And listened to a voice in every wind. 

O purple sea ! O joy beyond control ! 

O land of love and youth ! O happy throng ! 
Were ye then real, or did ye only seem ? 

Dear is that morning twilight of the soul, — 
The mystery, the waking voice of song, — 
For now I know it was not all a dream. 



CONGRESS: 1878. 9 y 



CONGRESS: 1878. 

Twas in the year when mutterings, loud and deep, 
From the roused beast were heard in all the land, 
And grave men questioned: " Can the State withstand 
The shock and strain to come ? Oh, will she keep 

Firm her four walls, should the wild creature leap 
To ruin and ravish ? Will her pillars planned 
By the great dead, lean then to either hand ? 
The dead ! would heaven they might awake from 
sleep ! " 

Haply (I thought), our Congress still may hold 
One voice of power, — when lo ! upon the blast 
A sound like jackals ravening to and fro. 

Great God ! And has it come to this at last ? 
Such noise, such shame, where once, not long ago, 
The pure and wise their living thoughts outrolled. 



9 8 A PORTRAIT OF SERVE TUS. 



A PORTRAIT OF SERVETUS. 

Thou grim and haggard wanderer who dost look 
With haunting eyes forth from the narrow page, — 
I know what fires consumed with inward rage 
Thy broken frame, what tempests chilled and shook ! 

Ah, could not thy remorseless foeman brook 

Time's sure devourment, but must needs assuage 

His anger in thy blood, and blot the age 

With that dark crime which virtue's semblance took ! 

Servetus! that which slew thee lives to-day, 

Though in new forms it taints our modern air; 
Still in heaven's name the deeds of hell are done: 

Still on the high-road, 'neath the noon-day sun, 
The fires of hate are lit for them who dare 
Follow their Lord along the untrodden way. 



MODJESKA. 99 



MODJESKA. 

L'heke are four sisters known to mortals well, 
Whose names are Joy and Sorrow, Death and Love : 
This last it was who did my footsteps move 
To where the other deep-eyed sisters dwell. 

To-night, or ere yon painted curtain fell, 

These, one by one, before my eyes did rove 
Through the brave mimic world that Shakespeare wove. 
Lady ! thy art, thy passion were the spell 

That held me, and still holds; for thou dost show. 
With those most high each in his sovereign art, — 
Shakespeare supreme, and mighty Angelo, — 

Great art and passion are one. Thine too the part 
To prove, that still for him the laurels grow 
Who reaches through the mind to pluck the heart. 



too KEATS. 



KEATS. 

Touch not with dark regret his perfect fame, 
Sighing, " Had he but lived he had done so ; " 
Or, " Were his heart not eaten out with woe 
John Keats had won a prouder, mightier name!" 

Take him for what he was and did — nor blame 
Blind fate for all he suffered. Thou shouldst know- 
Souls such as his escape no mortal blow — 
No agony of joy, or sorrow, or shame ! 

"Whose name was writ in water!" What large laughter 
Among the immortals when that word was brought ! 
Then when his fiery spirit rose flaming after 

High toward the topmost heaven of heavens up-caught ! 
" All hail ! our younger brother ! " Shakespeare said, 
And Dante nodded his imperial head. 



AN INSCRIPTION IN ROME. IO i 

AN INSCRIPTION IN ROME. 
(Piazza di Spagna.) 

Something there is in Death not all unkind, 
He hath a gentler aspect, looking back; 
For flowers may bloom in the dread thunder's track, 
And even the cloud that struck with light was lined. 

Thus, when the heart is silent, speaks the mind; 
But there are moments when comes rushing, black 
And fierce upon us, the old, awful lack, 
And Death once more is cruel, senseless, blind. 

So when I saw beside a Roman portal 

" In this house died John Keats " — for tears that 

sprung 
I could no further read. O bard immortal ! 

Xot for thy fame's sake — but so young, so young; 
Such beauty vanished, spilled such heavenly wine, 
All quenched that power of deathless song divine ! 



102 "CALL ME NOT DEAD: 1 



"CALL ME NOT DEAD." 

Call me not dead when I, indeed, have gone 
Into the company of the everliving 
High and most glorious poets ! Let thanksgiving 
Rather be made. Say — "He at last hath won 

Rest and release, converse supreme and wise, 
Music and song and light of immortal faces : 
To-day, perhaps, wandering in starry places, 
He hath met Keats, and known him by his eyes. 

To-morrow (who can say) Shakespeare may pass, — 
And our lost friend just catch one syllable 
Of that three-centuried wit that kept so well, — 

Or Milton, — or Dante, looking on the grass 
Thinking of Beatrice, and listening still 
To chanted hymns that sound from the heavenly hill." 



TO A DEPARTED FRIEND. 



103 



TO A DEPARTED FRIEND. 

Dear friend, who lovedst well this pleasant life ! 
One year ago it is this very day 
Since thou didst take thy uncompanioned way 
Into the silent land, from out the strife 

And joyful tumult of the world. The knife 

Wherewith that sorrow smote us, still doth stay, 
And we, to whom thou daily didst betray 
Thy gentle soul,' with faith and worship rife, 

Love thee not less but more, — as time doth go 
And we too hasten toward that land unknown 
Where those most dear are gathering one by one. 

The power divine that here did touch thy heart — 
Hath this withdrawn from thee, where now thou art ? 
Would thou indeed couldst tell what thou dost know. 



io 4 "#- h: 



"H. H." 

I would that in the verse she loved some word, 
Not all unfit, I to her praise could frame : 
Some word wherein the memory of her name 
Might through long years its incense still afford. 

But no, her spirit smote with its own sword; 
Herself has lit the fire whose blood-red flame 
Shall not be quenched : this is her living fame 
Who struck so well the sonnet's subtle chord. 

None who e'er knew her can believe her dead; 
Though should she die they deem it well might be 
Her spirit took its everlasting flight 

In summer's glory, by the sunset sea, — 

That onward through the Golden Gate it fled. 
Ah, where that bright soul is cannot be night. 



LOVE AND DEATH. 105 



LOVE AND DEATH. 



Now who can take from us what we have known — 
We that have looked into each other's eyes ? 
Though sudden night should blacken all the skies, 
The day is ours, and what the day has shown. 

What we have seen and been, hath not this grown 
Part of our very selves ? We, made love-wise, 
What power shall slay our living memories, 
And who shall take from us what is our own ? 

So, when a shade of the last parting fell, 

This thought gave peace, as he deep comfort hath 
Who, thirsting, drinks cool waters from a well. 

But soon I felt more near that fatal breath: 
More near he drew, till I his face could tell, 
Till then unseen, unknown,— I looked on Death. 



16 



io6 LOVE AND DEATH. 



II. 

We know not where they tarry who have died ■ 
The gate wherein they entered is made fast : 
No living mortal hath seen one who passed 
Hither, from out that darkness deep and wide. 

We lean on Faith; and some less wise have cried, 
" Behold the butterfly, the seed that 's cast ! " 
Vain hopes that fall like flowers before the blast ! 
What man can look on Death unterrined ? 

Who love can never die ! They are a part 
Of all that lives beneath the summer sky; 
With the world's living soul their souls are one : 

Nor shall they in vast nature be undone 
And lost in the general life. Each separate heart 
Shall live, and find its own, and never die. 



THE EVE XING STAR. 



ro 7 



"THE EVENING STAR." 

The evening star trembles and hides from him 
Who fain would hold it with imperious stare ; 
Yet, to the averted eye, lo ! unaware 
It shines serene, no longer shy and dim. 

Oh, slow and sweet, its chalice to the brim 

Fills the leaf-shadowed grape with rich and rare 
Cool sunshine, caught from the white circling air ! 
Home from his journey to the round world's rim — 

Through lonely lands, through cloudy seas and vext — 
At last the Holy Grail met Launfal's sight. 
So when my friend lost him who was her next 

Of soul, — life of her life, — all day the fight 

Raged with a dumb and pitiless God. Perplexed 
She slept. Heaven sent its comfort in the night. 



to8 COST. 



COST. 

Because Heaven's cost is Hell, and perfect joy- 
Hurts as hurts sorrow; and because we win 
No boon of grace without the cost of sin, 
Or suffering born of sin ; because the alloy 

Of blood but makes the bliss of victory brighter ; 
Because true worth hath its sure proof herein — 
That it should be reproached, and called akin 
To evil things, — black making white the whiter : 

Because no cost seems great near this — that He 
Should pay the ransom wherewith we were priced; 
And none could name a darker infamy 

Than that a God was spit upon — enticed 

By those he came to save, to the accursed tree- 
For this I know that Christ indeed is Christ. 



-DAY UNTO DAY OTTERETH SPEECH:' 1G9 



• DAY UNTO DAY UTTERETH SPEECH." 

The speech that day doth utter, and the night, 
Full oft to mortal ears it hath no sound; 
Dull are our eyes to read upon the ground 
What's written there; and stars are hid by light. 

So when the dark doth fall, awhile our sight 
Kens the unwonted orbs that circle round, 
Then quick in sleep our human sense is bound : 
Speechless for us the starry heavens and bright. 

But when the day doth close there is one word 
That's writ amid the sunset's golden embers ; 
And one at morn; by them our hearts are stirred: 

Splendor of Dawn, — and Evening that remembers ; 
These are the rhymes of God; thus, line on line, 
Our souls are moved to thoughts that are divine. 



FATHER AND CHILD. 



FATHER AND CHILD. 

Beneath the deep and solemn midnight sky, 
At this last verge and boundary of time 
I stand, and listen to the starry chime 
That sounds to the inward sense, and will not die. 

Now do the thoughts that daily hidden lie 
Arise, and live in a celestial clime, — 
Unutterable thoughts, most high, sublime, 
Crossed by one dread that frights mortality. 

Thus, as I muse, I hear my little child 
Sob in its sleep within the cottage near, — 
My own dear child ! — Gone is that mortal doubt ! 

The Power that drew our lives forth from the wild 
Our Father is; we shall to him be dear, 
Nor from his universe be blotted out! 



THE CELESTIAL PASSION. m 



THE CELESTIAL PASSION. 

O white and midnight sky, O starry bath, 
Wash me in thy pure, heavenly, crystal flood : 
Cleanse me, ye stars, from earthly soil and scath - 
Let not one taint remain in spirit or blood! 

Receive my soul, ye burning, awful deeps, 
Touch and baptize me with the mighty power 
That in ye thrills, while the dark planet sleeps; 
Make me all thine for one blest, secret hour! 

O glittering host, O high angelic choir, 

Silence each tone that with thy music jars; 
Fill me even as an uni with thy white fire 

Till all I am is kindred to the stars ! 
Make me thy child, thou infinite, holy night, — 
So shall my days be full of heavenly light ! 



ODES AND MEDITATIVE POEMS. 




MUSIC AND WORDS. 

i. 

THIS day I heard such music that I thought : 
Hath human speech the power thus to be wrought, 
Into such melody; pure, sensuous sound, — 
Into such mellow, murmuring mazes caught; 
Can words (I said), when these keen tones are bound — 
(Silent, except in memory of this hour) — 
Can human words alone usurp the power 
Of trembling strings that thrill to the very soul, 
And of this ecstasy bring back the whole? 



Ah no, 'twas answered in my inmost heart, 
I'nto itself sufficient is each art, 
And each doth utter what none other can — 
Some hidden mood of the large soul of man. 



n6 MUSIC AND WORDS. 

Ah, think not thou with words well interweaved 
To wake the tones wherein the viol grieved 
With its most heavy burden; think not thou, 
Adventurous, to push thy shallop's prow 
Into that surge of well-remembered tones, — 
Striving to match each wandering wind that moans, 
Each bell that tolls, and every bugle's blowing 
With some most fitting word, some verse bestowing 
A never-shifting form on that which passed 
Swift as a bird that glimmers down the blast. 

in. 

So, still unworded, save in memory mute, 
Rest thou sweet hour of viol and of lute ; 
Of thoughts that never, never can be spoken, 
Too frail for the rough usage of men's words, — 
Thoughts that shall keep their silence all unbroken 
Till music once more stirs them: — then like birds 
That in the night-time slumber, they shall wake, 
While all the leaves of all the forest shake; — 
Oh, hark, I hear it now that tender strain 
Fulfilled with all of sorrow save its pain. 



THE POET'S FAME. 117 



THE POET'S FAME. 

Many the songs of power the poet wrought 
To shake the hearts of men. Yea, he had caught 
The inarticulate and murmuring sound 
That comes at midnight from the darkened ground 
When the earth sleeps ; for this he framed a word 
Of human speech, and hearts were strangely stirred 
That listened. And for him the evening dew 
Fell with a sound of music, and the blue 
Of the deep, starry sky he had the art 
To put in language that did seem a part 
Of the great scope and progeny of nature. 
In woods, or waves, or winds, there was no creature 
Mysterious to him. He was too wise 
Either to fear, or follow, or despise 
Whom men call Science, — for he knew full well 
All she had told, or still might live to tell, 
Wa- known to him before her very birth : 



n8 THE POET'S FAME. 

Yea, that there was no secret of the earth, 
Nor of the waters under, nor the skies, 
That had been hidden from the poet's eyes ; 
By him there was no ocean unexplored, 
Nor any savage coast that had not roared 
Its music in his ears. 

He loved the town, — 
Not less he loved the ever-deepening brown 
Of summer twilights on the enchanted hills; 
Where he might listen to the starts and thrills 
Of birds that sang and rustled in the trees, 
Or watch the footsteps of the wandering breeze 
And the birds' shadows as they fluttered by 
Or slowly wheeled across the unclouded sky. 

All these were written on the poet's soul, — 
But he knew, too, the utmost, distant goal 
Of the human mind. His fiery thought did run 
To Time's beginning, ere yon central sun 
Had warmed to life the swarming broods of men. 
In waking dreams, his many-visioned ken 
Clutched the large, final destiny of things. 



THE POET'S FAME. 119 

He heard the starry music, and the wings 
Of beings unfelt by others thrilled the air 
About him. Yet the loud and angry blare 
Of tempests found an echo in his verse, 
And it was here that lovers did rehearse 
The ditties they would sing when, not too soon, 
Came the warm night, — shadows, and stars, and moon. 
Who heard his songs were filled with noble rage, 
And wars took fire from his prophetic page : 
Most righteous wars, wherein, 'midst blood and tears, 
The world rushed onward through a thousand years. 
And still he made the gentle sounds of peace 
Heroic, — bade the nation's anger cease! 
Bitter his songs of grief for those who fell, — 
And for all this the people loved him well. 

They loved him well and therefore, on a day, 
They said with one accord : " Behold how gray 
Our poet's head hath grown ! Ere 't is too late 
Come, let us crown him in our Hall of State : 
Ring loud the bells, give to the winds his praise. 
And urge his fame to other lands and days ! " 



120 THE POET'S FAME. 

So was it done, and deep his joy therein. 
But passing home at night, from out the din 
Of the loud Hall, the poet, unaware, 
Moved through a lonely and dim-lighted square — 
There was the smell of lilacs in the air 
And then the sudden singing of a bird, 
Startled by his slow tread. What memory stirred 
Within his brain he told not. Yet this night — 
Lone lingering when the eastern heavens were bright - 
He wove a song of such immortal art 
That there is not in all the world one heart — 
One human heart unmoved by it. Long! long! 
The laurel-crown has failed, but not that song 
Born of the night and sorrow. Where he lies 
At rest beneath the ever-shifting skies, 
Age after age, from far-off lands they come, 
With tears and flowers, to seek the poet's tomb. 



THE POET AND HIS MASTER. 



THE POET AND HIS MASTER. 

One day the poet's harp lay on the ground, 
Though from it rose a strange and trembling sound 
What time the wind swept over with a moan, 
Or, now and then, a faint and tinkling tone 
When a dead leaf fell shuddering from a tree 
And shook the silent wires all tremulously; 
And near it, solemn-eyed and woe-begone, 
The poet sat : he did not weep or groan. 

Then one drew near him who was robed in white: 
It was the poet's master; he had given 
To him that harp, once in a happy night 
When every silver star that shone in heaven 
Made music ne'er before was heard by mortal wight. 
And thus the master spoke : 
18 



122 THE POET AND HIS MASTER. 

" Why is thy voice 
Silent, O poet ? Why upon the grass 
Lies thy still harp ? The fitful breezes pass 
And touch the wires, but the skilled player's hand 
Moves not upon them. Poet, — wake! Rejoice, 
Sing and arouse the melancholy land." 

" Master, forbear. I may not sing to-day : 
My nearest friend, the brother of my heart, 
This day is stricken with sorrow, he must part 
From her who loves him. Can I sing, and play 
Upon the joyous harp, and mock his woe ? " 

" Alas, and hast thou then so soon forgot 
The bond that with thy gift of song did go — 
Severe as fate, fixed and unchangeable ? 
Dost thou not know this is the poet's lot: 
'Mid sounds of war — in halcyon times of peace — 
To strike the ringing wire and not to cease; 
In hours of general happiness to swell 
The common joy; and when the people cry 
With piteous voice loud to the pitiless sky, 



THE POET AXD HIS MASTER. 



23 



' Tis his to frame the universal prayer, 

And breathe the balm of song upon the accursed air?" 

u But 'tis not, O my master, that I borrow 
The robe of grief to deck my brother's sorrow. — 
Mine eyes have seen beyond the veil of youth; 
I know what Life is, have caught sight of Truth ; 
My heart is dead within me; a thick pall 
Darkens the mid-day sun." 

" And dost thou call 
This sorrow ? Call this knowledge ? O thou blind 
And ignorant! Know, then, thou yet shalt find, 
Ere thy full days are numbered 'neath the sun, 
Thou, in thy shallow youth, hadst but begun 
To guess what knowledge is, what grief may be, 
And all the infinite sum of human misery ; 
Shalt find that for each drop of perfect good 
Thou payest, at last, a threefold price in blood; 
What is most noble in thee, — every thought 
Highest and best, — crushed, spat upon, and brought 
To open shame; thy natural ignorance 



124 



THE POET AND HIS MASTER. 



Counted thy crime; the world all ruled by chance, 
Save that the good most suffer; but above 
These ills another, — cruel, monstrous, worse 
Than all before, — thy pure and passionate love 
Shall bring the old, immitigable curse." 

"And thou who tell'st me this, dost bid me sing?" 

" I bid thee sing, even though I have not told 
All the deep flood of anguish shall be rolled 
Across thy breast. Nor, Poet, shalt thou bring 
From out those depths thy grief! Tell to the wind 
Thy private woes, but not to human ear, 
Save in the shape of comfort for thy kind. 
But never hush thy song, dare not to cease 
While life is thine. Haply, 'mid those who hear, 
Thy music to one soul shall murmur peace, 
Though for thyself it hath no power to cheer. 

"Then shall thy still unbroken spirit grow 
Strong in its silent suffering and more wise; 
And as the drenched and thunder-shaken skies 



THE POET AND HIS MASTER. 



I2 5 



Pass into golden sunset — thou shalt know 
An end of calm, when evening breezes blow; 
And looking on thy life with vision fine 
Shalt see the shadow of a hand divine." 




126 ODE. 



ODE. 

I am the spirit of the morning sea; 
I am the awakening and the glad surprise ; 
I fill the skies 

With laughter and with light. 
Not tears, but jollity 

At birth of day brim the strong man-child's eyes. 
Behold the white 

Wide three-fold beams that from the hidden sun 
Rise swift and far, — 
One where Orion keeps 
His armed watch, and one 
That to the midmost starry heaven upleaps; 
The third blots out the firm-fixed Northern Star. 
I am the wind that shakes the glittering wave, 
Hurries the snowy spume along the shore 



ODE. 



127 



And dies at last in some far-murmuring cave. 
My voice thou nearest in the breaker's roar, — 
That sound which never failed since time began, 
And first around the world the shining tumult ran. 



11. 

I light the sea and wake the sleeping land. 

My footsteps on the hills make music, and my hand 

Plays like a harper's on the wind-swept pines. 

With the wind and the day 
I follow round the world — away ! away ! 
Wide over lake and plain my sunlight shines 
And every wave and every blade of grass 
Doth know me as I pass; 

And me the western sloping mountains know, and me 
The far-ofT, golden sea. 

O sea, whereon the passing sun doth lie ! 
O man, who watchest by that golden sea! 
Weep not, — O weep not thou, but lift thine eye 
And see me glorious in the sunset sky ! 



128 ODE. 

III. 

I love not the night 
Save when the stars are bright, 
Or when the moon 

Fills the white air with silence like a tune. 
Yea, even the night is mine 
When the Northern Lights outshine, 
And all the wild heavens throb in ecstasy divine; — 
Yea, mine deep midnight, though the black sky lowers, 
When the sea burns white and breaks on the shore 
in starry showers. 

IV. 

I am the laughter of the new-born child 
On whose soft-breathing sleep an angel smiled. 
And I all sweet first things that are: 
First songs of birds, not perfect as at last, — 
Broken and incomplete, — 
But sweet, oh, sweet! 
And I the first faint glimmer of a star 
To the wrecked ship that tells the storm is past; 
The first keen smells and stirrings of the Spring; 



ODE. 



129 



First snow-flakes, and first May-flowers after snow; 

The silver glow 

Of the new moon's ethereal ring; 

The song the morning stars together made, 

And the first kiss of lovers under the first June shade. 

v. 

My sword is quick, my arm is strong to smite 
In the dread joy and fury of the fight. 
I am with those who win, not those who fly; 
With those who live I am, not those who die. 
Who die? Nay — nay — that word 
Where I am is unheard; 

For I am the spirit of youth that cannot change, 
Nor cease, nor suffer woe; 

And I am the spirit of beauty that doth range 
Through natural forms and motions, and each show 
Of outward loveliness. With me have birth 
All gentleness and joy in all the earth. 
Raphael knew me, and showed the world my face; 
Me Homer knew, and all the singing race. — 
For I am the spirit of light, and life, and mirth. 
l 9 



13° 



AT THE PRESIDENTS GRAVE. 
AT THE PRESIDENT'S GRAVE. 

(SEPTEMBER 19, l88l.) 

All summer long the people knelt 
And listened at the sick man's door: 

Each pang which that pale sufferer felt 

Throbbed through the land from shore to shore; 

And as the all-dreaded hour drew nigh, 
What breathless watching, night and day ! 

What tears, what prayers ! Great God on high, — 
Have we forgotten how to pray ! 

O broken-hearted, widowed one, 

Forgive us if we press too near ! 
Dead is our husband, father, son, — 

For we are all one household here. 

And not alone here by the sea, 

And not in his own land alone, 
Are tears of anguish shed with thee — 

In this one loss the world is one. 



AT THE PRESIDENT'S GRAVE. 

And thou remember, — though relief 

Come not till thine own day grow dim, 

That never, in this world of grief, 
Was mortal ever mourned like him. 



I3 1 



EPITAPH. 



A man not perfect, but of heart 
So high, of such heroic rage, 

That even his hopes became a part 
Of earth's eternal heritage. 



132 



THE BURIAL OF GRANT. 



THE BURIAL OF GRANT. 

(NEW-YORK, AUGUST 8, 1 885.) 
I. 

Ye living soldiers of the mighty war, 

Once more from roaring cannon and the drums 
And bugles blown at morn, the summons comes; 
Forget the halting limb, each wound and scar: 
Once more your Captain calls to you; 
Come to his last review ! 

11. 
And come ye, too, bright spirits of the dead, 

Ye who went heavenward from the embattled field ; 
And ye whose harder fate it was to yield 
Life from the loathful prison or anguished bed : 
Dear ghosts ! come join your comrades here 
Beside this sacred bier. 



THE BURIAL OF GRAXT. 



*33 



III. 
Nor be ye absent, ye immortal band, — 
Warriors of ages past, and our own age, — 
Who drew the sword for right, and not in rage, 
Made war that peace might live in all the land, 
Nor ever struck one vengeful blow, 
But helped the fallen foe. 

IV. 

And fail not ye — but, ah, ye falter not — 
To join his army of the dead and living, 
Ye who once felt his might, and his forgiving: 
Brothers, whom more in love than hate he smote 
For all his countrymen make room 
By our great hero's tomb ! 

v. 
Come soldiers, — not to battle as of yore, 

But come to weep; ay, shed your noblest tears; 
For lo, the stubborn chief, who knew not fears, 
Lies cold at last, ye shall not see him more. 
How long grim Death he fought and well, 
That poor, lean frame doth tell. 



134 



THE BURIAL OF GRANT. 



VI. 

All's over now; here let our Captain rest, 
Silent amid the blare of praise and blame; 
Here let him rest, alone with his great fame,— 
Here in the city's heart he loved the best, 
And where our sons his tomb may see 
To make them brave as he: — 

VII. 

As brave as he — he on whose iron arm 

Our Greatest leaned, our gentlest and most wise,-— 
Leaned when all other help seemed mocking lies, 
While this one soldier checked the tide of harm, 
And they together saved the State, 
And made it free and great. • 



A LAMENT. 



A LAMENT 



35 



FOR THE DEAD OF THE " JEANNETTE BROUGHT 
HOME ON THE " FRISIA." 



O gates of ice ! long have ye held our loved ones. 

Ye Cruel ! how could ye keep from us them for 
whom our hearts yearned : our dear ones, our fathers, 
our children, our brothers, our lovers. 

Cold and Sleet, Darkness and Ice! hard have ye 
held them; ye would not let them go. 

Their hands ye have bound fast ; their feet ye have 
detained ; and well have ye laid hold upon the hearts 
of our loved ones. 

O silent Arctic Night ! thou hast wooed them from 
us. 

O Secret of the white and unknown world ! too 
strong hast thou been for us; we were as nothing to 
thee ; thou hast drawn them from us ; thou wouldst 
not let them go. 



I3 6 A LAMENT. 

The long day passed ; thou wouldst not let them go. 

The long, long night came and went; thou wouldst 
not let them go. 

O thou insatiate ! What to thee are youth, and life, 
and hope, and love ? 

For thou art Death, not Life ; thou art Despair, 
not Hope. 

Nought to thee the rush of youthful blood ; nought 
to thee the beauty and strength of our loved ones. 

The breath of their bodies was not sweet to thee; 
they loved thee, and thou lovedst not them. 

They followed thee, thou didst not look upon 
them; but still, O thou inviolate! still did they fol- 
low thee. 

Thee did they follow through storm, through perils 
of the ice, and of the unknown darkness. 

The sharp spears of the frost they feared not; the 
terrors of death they feared not. For thee, for thee, 
for thee, not for us; only that they might look upon 
thy face! 

All these they endured for thee ; the thought of us 
whom yet they loved, this also they endured for 
thee. 



A LAMENT. I37 

For thou art beautiful, beyond the beauty of woman. 
In thy hair are the stars of night. Thou wrappest 
about thee garments of fire that burn not, and are 
never quenched; 

When thou movest they are moved; when thou 
breathest they tremble. 

Yea, awful art thou in thy beauty ; with white fingers 
beckoning in mists and shadows of the frozen sea : 
drawing to thee the hearts of heroes. 



Long, long have they tarried in thy gates, O North ! 

But now thou hast given them up. Lo, they come 
to us once more, — our beloved, our only ones ! 

O dearest, why have ye stayed so long ? 

With ye, night and day have come and gone, but 
with us there was night only. 

But no, we will not reproach ye, hearts of our 
hearts, — dearest and best; our fathers, our children, 
our brothers, our lovers ! 

Come back to us! Behold our arms are open for 

you ; ye are ours ; ye have returned unto us ; ye shall 

never go hence again. 
20 



138 



A LAMENT. 



But why are ye silent, why do ye not stir, why do 
ye not speak to us, O beloved ones? 

White are your cheeks like snow ; your eyes they 
do not look upon us. 

So long ye have been gone, and is this your joy 
to see us once more ? 

Lo ! do we not welcome you ? Are not our souls 
glad? Do not our tears, long kept, fall upon your 
faces? 

Or do ye but sleep well, after those hard and weary 
labors ? O now awaken, for ye shall take rest and 
pleasure, — here are your homes and kindred! 

Listen, beloved: here is your sister, here is your 
brother, here is your lover! 

in. 

They will not hearken to our voices. 

They are still: their eyes look not upon us. 

O insatiate, O Secret of the white and unknown 
world, cruel indeed thou art ! 

Thou hast sent back to us our best beloved ; their 
bodies thou hast rendered up, but their spirits thou 
hast taken away from us forever. 



A THOUGHT. 



139 



In life thou didst hold them from us — and in death, 
in death they are thine. 

New York, February 20, 1884. 



A THOUGHT. 

Once, looking from a window on a land 

That lay in silence underneath the sun: 

A land of broad, green meadows, through which poured 

Two rivers, slowly widening to the sea, — 

Thus, as I looked, I know not how or whence, 

Was borne into my unexpectant soul 

That thought, late learned by anxious-witted man, 

The infinite patience of the Eternal Mind. 



l 4 o ILL TIDINGS. 



ILL TIDINGS. 

(the studio concert.) 

In the long studio from whose towering walls 
Greek Pheidias beams, and Angelo appalls, 
Eager the listening, downcast faces throng 
While violins their piercing tones prolong. 
At times I know not if I see, or hear, 
Milo's calm smile, or some not sorrowing tear 
Down-falling on the surface of the stream 
That music pours across my waking dream. 
Ah, is it then a dream that while repeat 
Those chords, like strokes of silver-shod light feet, 
And the great Master's music marches on — 
I hear the horses of the Parthenon ? 

But all to-day seems vague, unreal, far, 
With fear and discord in the dearest strain, 
For 'neath yon slowly-sinking western star 
One that I love lies on her bed of pain. 



A NEW WORLD. 



A NEW WORLD. 



141 



" I know," he said, 
"The thunder and the lightning have passed by 
And all the earth is black, and burnt, and dead; 
But, friend, the grass will grow again, the flowers 
Again will bloom, the summer birds will sing, 
And the all-healing sun will shine once more." 

" Blind prophecy," she answered in her woe. 
Yet still, as time wore on, the prophet's words 
Came true, — but not all true. (So will it be 
With all who here shall suffer mortal loss : ) 
Ere long the grass, the flowers, the birds, the sun 
Once more made bright the bleak and desolate earth ; 
They came once more, those joys of other days; 
She felt them, moved among them, and was glad. 

Glad — glad ! O mocking word ! They came once 
more, 
But not the same to her. Familiar they 
As a remembered dream, and beautiful — 
But changed, all changed, the whole world changed 
forever. 



142 



FATE. 



FATE. 

I flung a stone into a grassy field: 
How many tiny creatures there may yield 
(I thought) their petty lives through that rude shock ! 
To me a pebble, 'tis to them a rock, 
Gigantic, cruel, fraught with sudden death. 
Perhaps it crushed an ant, perhaps its breath 
Alone tore down a white and glittering palace, 
And the small spider damns the giant's malice 
Who wrought the wreck — blasted his pretty art! 

Who knows what day some saunterer, light of heart, 
An idle wanderer through the fields of space, 
Large-limbed, big-brained, to whom our puny race 
Seem small as insects, — one whose footstep jars 
On some vast continent islanded by stars, — 
May fling a stone and crush our earth to bits, 
And all that men have builded by their wits? 



FA TE. 



H3 



" Ah, what a loss ! " you say ; " our bodies go, 
But not our temples, statues, and the glow 
Oi glorious canvases; and not the pages 
Our poets have illumed through myriad ages. 
What boots the insect's loss ? Another day 
Will see the self-same ant-hill and the play 
Of light on dainty web the same. But blot 
All human art from this terrestrial plot, 
Something indeed would pass that nevermore 
Would light the universe as once before ! " 
The spider's work is not original, — 
You say, — but what of ours ? I fear that all 
We do is just the same thing over and over. 
Take Life: you have the woman and her lover, — 
'Tis old as Eden, — nought is new in that! 
Take Building, and you reach ere long the flat 
Nile desert sands, by way of France, Rome, 

Greece. 
And there is poetry — our bards increase 
In numbers, not in sweetness, not in force 
Since Job with the Eternal held discourse. 
No, no ! The forms may change, but even they 



144 



FATE. 



Come round again. Could we but truly scan it, 
We'd find in the heavens some little, busy planet 
Whence all we are was borrowed. If to-day 
The imagined giant flung his ponderous stone, 
And we and all our far-stretched schemes were done, 
His were a scant remorse and short-lived trouble, — 
Like mine for those small creatures in the stubble. 




THE VOICE OF THE PINE. 



45 



THE VOICE OF THE PINE. 

'Tis night upon the lake. Our bed of boughs 
Is built where — high above — the pine-tree soughs. 
'Tis still, — and yet what woody noises loom 
Against the background of the silent gloom! 
One well might hear the opening of a flower 
If day were hushed as this. A mimic shower 
Just shaken from a branch, how large it sounded, 
As 'gainst our canvas roof its three drops bounded! 
Across the rumpling waves the hoot-owl's bark 
Tolls forth the midnight hour upon the dark. 
What mellow booming from the hills doth come? — 
The mountain quarry strikes its mighty drum. 

Long had we lain beside our pine-wood fire, 
From things of sport our talk had risen higher; 
How frank and intimate the words of men 
When tented lonely in some forest glen ! 
21 



146 THE VOICE OF THE PINE. 

No dallying now with masks, from whence emerges 
Scarce one true feature forth. The night- wind urges 
To straight and simple speech. So we had thought 
Aloud; no well-hid secrets but were brought 
To light. The spiritual hopes, the wild, 
Unreasoned longings that, from child to child, 
Mortals still cherish (though with modern shame),— 
To these, and things like these, we gave a name; 
And as we talked, the intense and resinous fire 
Lit up the towering boles, till nigh and nigher 
They gathered round, a ghostly company, 
Like beasts who seek to know what men may be. 



Then to our hemlock beds, but not to sleep, — 
For listening to the stealthy steps that creep 
About the tent, or falling branch, but most 
A noise was like the rustling of a host, 
Or like the sea that breaks upon the shore, — 
It was the pine-tree's murmur. More and more 
It took a human sound. These words I felt 
Into the skyey darkness float and melt : 



THE VOICE OF THE PINE. 147 

" Heardst thou these wanderers reasoning of a time 
When men more near the Eternal One shall climb ? 
How like the new-born child, who cannot tell 
A mother's arm that wraps it warm and well! 
Leaves of His rose; drops in His sea that flow, — 
Are they, alas, so blind they cannot know 
Here, in this breathing world of joy and fear, 
They can no nearer get to God than here." 



148 THE HOMESTEAD. 



THE HOMESTEAD. 



Here stays the house, here stay the self-same places, 
Here the white lilacs and the buttonwoods; 
Here are the pine-groves, there the river-floods, 
And there the threading brook that interlaces 
Green meadow-bank with meadow-bank the same. 
The melancholy nightly chorus came 
Long, long ago from the same pool, and yonder 
Stark poplars lift in the same twilight air 
Their ancient shadows : nearer still, and fonder, 
The black-heart cherry-tree's gaunt branches bare 
Rasp on the same old window where I ponder. 



THE HOMESTEAD. 149 



II. 

And we, the only living, only pass; 

We come and go, whither and whence we know not : 

From birth to bound the same house keeps, alas ! 

New lives as gently as the old ; there show not 

Among the haunts that each had thought his own 

The looks that parting brings to human faces. 

The black-heart there, that heard my earliest moan, 

And yet shall hear my last, like all these places 

I love so well, unloving lives from child 

To child; from morning joy to evening sorrow — 

Untouched by joy, by anguish undented: 

All one the generations gone, and new ; 

All one dark yesterday and bright to-morrow; 

To the old tree's insensate sympathy 

All one the morning and the evening dew — 

My far, forgotten ancestor and I. 



150 "BEYOND THE BRANCHES OE THE PINE." 



" BEYOND THE BRANCHES OF THE PINE." 

Beyond the branches of the pine 
The golden sun no more doth shine, 

But still the solemn after-glow 
Floods the deep heavens with light divine. 

The night-wind stirs the corn-field near, 
The gray moon turns to silver clear, 

And one by one the glimmering stars 
In the blue dome of heaven appear. 

Now do the mighty hosts of light 
Across the darkness take their flight, — 

They rise above the eastern hill 
And silent journey through the night. 

And there beneath the starry zone, 
In the deep, narrow grave, alone, 

Rests all that mortal was of her, 
The purest spirit I have known. 



AN AUTUMN MEDITATION. 



'5 1 



AN AUTUMN MEDITATION. 

As the long day of cloud and storm and sun 

Declines into the dark and silent night, 

So passed the old man's life from human gaze; 

But not till sunset, full of lovely light 

And color that the day might not reveal, 

Bathed in soft gloom the landscape. 

Thus kind Heaven 
Let me, too, die when Autumn holds the year, 
Serene, with tender hues, and bracing airs, — 
And near me those I love; with no black thoughts, 
Xor dread of what may come! Yea, when I die 
Let me not miss from nature the cool rush 
Of northern winds; let Autumn sunset skies 
Be golden; let the cold, clear blue of night 
Whiten with stars as now! Then shall I fade 
From life to life, — pass on the year's full tide 



1 52 AN AUTUMN MEDITATION. 

Into the swell and vast of the outer sea 
Beyond this narrow world. 

For autumn days 
To me not melancholy are, but full 
Of joy and hope, mysterious and high, 
And with strange promise rife. Then it meseems 
Not failing is the year, but gathering fire 
Even as the cold increases. 



Grows a weed 
More richly here beside our mellow seas 
That is the Autumn's harbinger and pride. 
When fades the cardinal-flower, whose heart-red bloom 
Glows like a living coal upon the green 
Of the midsummer meadows, then how bright, 
How deepening bright like mounting flame doth burn 
The golden-rod upon a thousand hills ! 
This is the Autumn's flower, and to my soul 
A token fresh of beauty and of life, 
And life's supreme delight. 



AN AUTUMN MEDITATJOX. 



*53 



When I am gone, 
Something of me I would might subtly pass 
Within these flowers twain of all the year: 
So might my spirit send a sudden stir 
Into the hearts of those who love these hills, 
These woods, these waves, and meadows by the sea. 




■54 



RECOGNITION. 



RECOGNITION, 



In darkness of the visionary night 

This I beheld: Wide space and therein God, 

God who in dual nature doth abide, — 

Love, and the Loved One, Power, and Beauty's self. 

And forth from God did come, with dreadful thrill, 

Creation, boundless, to the eye unformed, 

And white with trembling fire and light intense, 

And outward pulsings like the boreal flame; 

One mighty cloud it seemed, nor star, nor earth, 

Or like some nameless growth of the under-seas : 

Creation dumb, unconscious, yet alive 

With swift, concentric, never-ceasing urge, 

Resolving gradual to one disk of fire. 

And as I looked, behold the flying rim 

Grew separate from the center; this again 

Divided, and the whole still swift revolved, 

Ring within ring, and fiery wheel in wheel; 



RECOGNITION. 155 

Till, sudden or slow as chanced, the outmost edge 

Whirled into fragments, each a separate sun, 

With lesser globes attendant on its flight. 

These while I gazed turned dark with smouldering fire 

And, slow contracting, grew to solid orbs. 

Then knew I that this planetary world, 

Cradled in light, and curtained with the dawn 

And starn' eve, was born; though in itself 

Complete and perfect all, yet but a part 

And atom of the living universe. 



11. 



Unconscious still the child of the conscious God, — 
Creation, born of Beauty and of Love, 
Beauty the womb and mother of all worlds. 
But soon with silent speed the new-made earth 
Swept near me where I watched the birth of things, 
Its greatening bulk eclipsing, star by star, 
Half the bright heavens. Then I beheld crawl forth 
Upon the earth's cool crust most wondrous forms 
Wherein were hid, in transmutation strange, 



i56 



RECOGNITION. 



Sparks of the ancient, never-ending fire; 
Shapes moved not solely by exterior law 
But having will and motion of their own, — 
First sluggish and minute, then by degrees 
Monstrous, enorm. Then other forms more fine 
Streamed ceaseless on my sight, until at last, 
Rising and turning its slow gaze about 
Across the abysmal void the mighty child 
Of the supreme, divine Omnipotence — 
Creation, born of God, by Him begot, 
Conscious in Man, no longer blind and dumb, 
Beheld and knew its father and its God. 



THE NEW DAY, 

A POEM IN SONGS AND SONNETS. 



PRELUDE. 




THE night was dark, though sometimes a faint 
star 
A little while a little space made bright. 
Dark was the night and like an iron bar 
Lay heavy on the land : till o'er the sea 
Slowly, within the East, there grew a light 
Which half was starlight, and half seemed to be 
The herald of a greater. The pale white 
Turned slowly to pale rose, and up the height 
Of heaven slowly climbed. The gray sea grew 
Rose-colored like the sky. A white gull flew 
Straight toward the utmost boundary of the East 
Where slowly the rose gathered and increased. 
It was as on the opening of a door 
By one who in his hand a lamp doth hold, 
(Its flame yet hidden by the garment's fold) — 
The still air moves, the wide room is less dim. 

161 

23 



162 THE NEW DAY. 

More bright the East became, the ocean turned 
Dark and more dark against the brightening sky — 
Sharper against the sky the long sea line. 
The hollows of the breakers on the shore 
Were green like leaves whereon no sun doth shine, 
Though white the outer branches of the tree. 
From rose to red the level heaven burned; 
Then sudden, as if a sword fell from on high, 
A blade of gold flashed on the ocean's rim. 



PART I. 




I. 

SONNET. 

(AFTER THE ITALIAN.) 

I KNOW not if I love her overmuch; 
But this I know } that when unto her face 
She lifts her hand, which rests there, still, a space, 
Then slowly falls — 'tis I who feel that touch. 

And when she sudden shakes her head, with such 
A look. I soon her secret meaning trace. 
So when she runs I think 'tis I who race. 
Like a poor cripple who has lost his crutch 

I am if she is gone; and when she goes, 
I know not why, for that is a strange art — 
As if myself should from myself depart. 

1 know not if I love her more than those 
Her lovers, but for the red hidden rose 
She covers in her hair, I 'd give my heart. 
165 



166 THE NEW DAY, 

II. 

SONNET. 

(AFTER THE ITALIAN.) 

I like her gentle hand that sometimes strays, 

To find the place, through the same book with 

mine; 
I like her feet ; and oh, her eyes are fine ! 
And when we say farewell, perhaps she stays 

Love-lingering — then hurries on her ways, 

As if she thought, " To end my pain and thine. ,r 
I like her voice better than new-made wine, 
I like the mandolin whereon she plays. 

And I like, too, the cloak I saw her wear, 

And the red scarf that her white neck doth cover. 
And well I like the door that she comes through; 

I like the riband that doth bind her hair, — 
But then, in truth, I am that lady's lover, 
And every new day there is something new. 



THE NEW DAY. 167 



III. 

«A BARREN STRETCH THAT SLANTS TO 
THE SALT SEA'S GRAY." 

A barren stretch that slants to the salt sea's gray — . 

Rock-strewn, and scarred by fire, and rough with 
stubble, — 
With here and there a bold, bright touch of color 
Berries and yellow leaves — that make the dolor 

More dolorous still. Above, a sky of trouble. 

But now a light is lifted in the air; 

And though the sky is shadowed, fold on fold, 
By clouds that have the lightnings in their hold, 

That western gleam makes all the dim earth fair — 
The sun shines forth and the gray sea is gold. 



1 68 THE NE W DA Y. 

IV. 

LOVE IN WONDER. 
(a picture.) 

To-day I saw the picture of a man 

Who, issuing from a wood, doth thrust apart 
Strong-matted, thorny branches, whose keen smart 
He heeds in nowise, if he only can 

Win the red rose a maiden, like a fan, 

Holds daintily. She, listening to her heart, 
Hath looked another way. Ah, would she start, 
And weep, and suffer sorrow, if he ran — 

For utter love of her — swift, sobbing, back 
Into those awful shadows, terribler 
Because her whiteness made their black more black ! 

A little while he waits, lest he should err; 
Awhile he wonders, secretly. — Alack! 
He could so gladly die, or live for her. 



THE NEW DA Y. 169 



V. 

LOVE GROWN BOLD. 

This is her picture painted ere mine eyes 
Her ever holy face had looked upon. 
She sitteth in a silence of her own; 
Behind her, on the ground, a red rose lies: 

Her thinking brow is bent, nor doth arise 

Her gaze from that shut book whose word unknown 
Her firm hands hide from her; — there all alone 
She sitteth in thought-trouble, maidenwise. 

And now her lover waiting wondereth 
Whether the joy of joys is drawing near : 
Shall his brave fingers like a tender breath 

That shut book open for her, wide and clear? 
From him who her sweet shadow worshippeth 
Now will she take the rose, and hold it dear? 



24 



INTERLUDE, 




THE sun rose swift and sent a golden gleam 
Across the moving waters to the land; 
Then for a little while it seemed to stand 
In a clear place, midway ; twixt sea and cloud: 
Whence rising swift again it passed behind 
Full many a long and narrow cloud- wrought beam 
Encased in gold unearthly, that was mined 
From out the hollow caverns of the wind. 
These first revealed its face and next did shroud, 
While still the daylight grew, and joy thereby 
Lit all the windy stretches of the sky : 



Until a shadow darkened from the east 
And sprang upon the ocean like a beast. 



PART II. 




THERE was a field green and fragrant with grass 
and flowers, and flooded with sunlight, and the 
air above it throbbed with the songs of birds. It 
was yet morning when suaden darkness came, and 
fire followed lightning over its face, and the singing 
birds fell dying upon the blackened grass. The thun- 
der and the flame passed, but it was still dark, — till 
a ray of light touched the field's edge and grew, little 
by little. Then I who listened heard — not the 
songs of birds again, but the flutter of broken wings. 




25 



178 THE NEW DAY. 



II. 

THE DARK ROOM. 

(a parable ) 
I. 

A maiden sought her love in a dark room, — 
So early had she yearned from yearning sleep, 
So hard it was from her true love to keep, — 
And blind she went through that all-silent gloom, 

Like one who wanders weeping in a tomb. 
Heavy her heart, but her light fingers leap 
With restless grasp and question in that deep 
Unanswering void. Now when a hand did loom 

At last, how swift her warm impassioned face 
Pressed 'gainst the black and solemn-yielding air, 
As near more near she groped to that bright place, 

And seized the hand, and drowned it with her hair, 
And bent her body to his fierce embrace, 
And knew what joy was in the darkness there. 



THE NEW DAY. 



179 



(iREAT God! the arms wherein that maiden fell 
Were not her lover's; I am her lover — I, 
Who sat here in the shadows silently — 
Silent with gladness, for I thought, O hell! 

I thought to me she moved, and all was well. 
She saw me not, yet dimly could descry 
That beautiful hand of his, and with a sigh 
Sank on his fair and treacherous breast. The spell 

Of the Evil One was on me. All in vain 

I strove to speak — my parched lips were dumb. 
See ! see ! the wan and whitening window-pane ! 

See, in the night, the awful morning bloom ! 
Too late she will know all ! Heaven ! send thy rain 
Of death, nor let the sun of waking come ! 



180 THE NEW DAY. 



III. 

I MET A TRAVELLER ON THE ROAD. 

I met a traveller on the road 
Whose back was bent beneath a load; 
His face was worn with mortal care, 
His frame beneath its burden shook, 
Yet onward, restless, he did fare 
With mien unyielding, fixed, a look 
Set forward in the empty air 
As if he read an unseen book. 

What was it in his smile that stirred 
My soul to pity ! When I drew 
More near it seemed as if I heard 
The broken echo of a tune 
Learned in some far and happy June. 
His lips were parted, but unmoved 
By words. He sang as dreamers do, 
And not as if he heard and loved 
The song he sang: I hear it now! 



THE NEW DAY. 181 

He stood beside the level brook, 
Nor quenched his thirst, nor bathed his brow, 
Nor from his back the burden shook . 
He stood, and yet he did not rest; 
His eyes climbed up in aimless quest, 
Then close did to that mirror bow— 
And, looking down, I saw in place . 
Of his, my own familiar face. 



1 82 THE NEW DAY. 



IV. 



WRITTEN ON A FLY-LEAF OF "SHAKE 
SPEARE'S SONNETS." 

When shall true love be love without alloy : 
Shine free at last from sinful circumstance ! 
When shall the canker of unheavenly chance 
Eat not the bud of that most heavenly joy ! 

When shall true love meet love not as a coy 
Retreating light that leads a deathful dance, 
But as a firm fixed fire that doth enhance 
The beauty of all beauty! Will the employ 

Of poets ever be too well to show 

That mightiest love with sharpest pain doth writhe- 
That underneath the fair, caressing glove 

Hides evermore the iron hand; and though 
Love's flower alone is good, if we would prove 
Its perfect bloom, our breath slays like a scythe! 



THE NEW DAY. 183 



V. 

"AND WERE THAT BEST!" 

And were that best, Love, dreamless, endless sleep! 

Gone all the fury of the mortal day; 

The daylight gone, and gone the starry ray ! 

And were that best, Love, rest serene and deep! 
Gone labor and desire; no arduous steep 

To climb, no songs to sing, no prayers to pray, 

Xo help for those who perish by the way, 

No laughter 'midst our tears, no tears to weep ! 
And were that best, Love, sleep with no dear dream, 

Nor memory of any thing in life — 

Stark death that neither help nor hurt can know! 
Oh, rather, Love, the sorrow-bringing gleam, 

The living day's long agony and strife! 

Rather strong love in pain — the waking woe ! 



1 84 THE NEW DAY. 



VI. 



THERE IS NOTHING NEW UNDER THE 

SUN." 

There is nothing new under the sun; 

There is no new hope or despair; 
The agony just begun 

Is as old as the earth and the air. 
My secret soul of bliss 

Is one with the singing star's, 
And the ancient mountains miss 

No hurt that my being mars. 

I know as I know my life, 

I know as I know my pain, 
That there is no lonely strife, 

That he is mad who would gain 
A separate balm for his woe, 

A single pity and cover: 
The one great God I know 

Hears the same prayer over and over. 



THE NEW DAY. 185 

I know it because at the portal 

Of Heaven I bowed and cried, 
And I said, " Was ever a mortal 

Thus crowned and crucified ! 
My praise thou hast made my blame; 

My best thou hast made my worst; 
My good thou hast turned to shame; 

My drink is a flaming thirst." 

But scarce my prayer was said 

Ere from that place I turned ; 
I trembled, I hung my head, 

My cheek, shame-smitten, burned: 
For there where I bowed down 

In my boastful agony, 
I thought of thy cross and crown, — 

O Christ ! I remembered thee. 



;86 THE NEW DAY. 



VII. 

LOVE'S CRUELTY. 

"And this, then, is thy love," I hear thee say, 
" And dost thou love, and canst thou torture so ? 
Ah, spare me, if thou lov'st me, this last woe ! " 
But I am not my own; I must obey 

My master ; I am slave to Love ; his sway 
Is cruel as the grave. When he says Go ! 
I go; when he says Come! I come. I know 
No law but his. When he says Slay! I slay. 

As cruel as the grave Yes — crueller. 

Cruel as light that pours its stinging flood 
Across the dark, and makes an anguished stir 

Of life. Cruel as life that sends through blood 
Of mortal the immortal pang and spur. 
Cruel as thy remorseless maidenhood. 



INTERLUDE, 




THE cloud was thick that hid the sun from sight 
And over all a shadowy roof outspread, 
Making the day dim with another night — 
Not dark like that which passed, but oh ! more dread 
For the clear sunlight that had gone before 
And prophecy of that which yet should be. 
Like snow at night the wind-blown hills of sand 
Shone with an inward light far down the land: 
Beneath the lowering sky black was the sea 
Across whose waves a bird came flying low — 
Borne swift on the wind with wing-beat halt and slow — 
From out the dull east toward the foamy shore. 
There was an awful waiting in the earth 
As if a mystery greatened to its birth : 
Though late it seemed, the day was just begun 
When lo ! at last, the many-colored bow 
Stood in the heavens over against the sun. 

«8 9 



PART III. 




I. 

"MY LOVE FOR THEE DOTH MARCH LIKE 
ARMED MEN." 

My love for thee doth march like armed men 
Against a queenly city they would take. 
Along the army's front its banners shake ; 
Across the mountain and the sun-smit plain 

It steadfast sweeps as sweeps the steadfast rain; 
And now the trumpet makes the still air quake, 
And now the thundering cannon doth awake 
Echo on echo, echoing loud again. 

But, lo ! the conquest higher than bard had sung ; 
Instead of answering cannon comes a small 
White flag ; the iron gates are open flung, 

And flowers along the invaders' pathway fall. 
The city's conquerors feast their foes among, 
And their brave flags are trophies on her wall. 
193 



94 THE NEW DAY, 



II. 

"I WILL BE BRAVE FOR THEE." 

I will be brave for thee, dear heart; for thee 
My boasted bravery forego. I will 
For thee be wise, or lose my little skill, — 
Coward or brave; wise, foolish; bond or free. 

No grievous cost in anything I see 

That brings thee bliss, or only keeps thee, still, 
In painless peace. So Heaven thy cup but fill, 
Be empty mine unto eternity! 

Come to me, Love, and let me touch thy face ! 
Lean to me, Love, — breathe on me thy dear breath! 
Fly from me, Love, to some far hiding-place, 

If thy one thought of me or hindereth 

Or hurteth thy sweet soul — then grant me grace 
To be forgotten, though that grace be death! 



THE XEW DAY. 



III. 



95 



LOVE ME NOT, LOVE, FOR THAT I FIRST 
LOVED THEE." 

Love me not, Love, for that I first loved thee, 
Nor love me. Love, for thy dear pity's sake, 
In knowledge of the mortal pain and ache 
Which is the fruit of love's blood-veined tree. 

Let others for my love give love to me: 
From other souls oh, gladly will I take, 
This burning, heart-dry thirst of love to slake, 
What seas of human pity there may be 1 

Nay, nay, I care no more how love may grow, 
So that I hear thee answer to my call ! 
Love me because my piteous tears do flow, 

Or that my love for thee did first befall. 
Love me or late or early, fast or slow : 
But love me, Love, for love is one and all ! 



196 THE NEW DAY. 

IV. 
BODY AND SOUL. 



O thou my Love, love first my lonely soul! 
Then shall this too unworthy body of mine 
Be loved by right and accident divine. 
Forget the flesh, that the pure spirit's goal 

May be the spirit; let that stand the whole 
Of what thou lov'st in me. So will the shine 
Of soul that strikes on soul make fair and fine 
This earthy tenement. Thou shalt extol 

The inner, that the outer lovelier seem. 

Remember well that thy true love doth fear 
No deadlier foe than the impassioned dream 

Should drive thee to him, and should hold thee 
near — 
Near to the body, not the soul of him. 
Love first my soul and then both will be dear. 



THE XEW DAY, 



97 



II. 

But, Love, for me thy body was the first. 
One day I wandered idly through the town, 
Then entered a cathedral's silence brown 
Which sudden thrilled with a strange heavenly burst 

Of light and music. Lo ! that traveller durst 
Do nothing now but worship and fall down. 
He thought to rest, as doth some tired clown 
Who sinks in longed-for sleep, but there immersed 

Finds restless vision on vision of beauty rare. 
Moved by thy body's outer majesty 
I entered in thy silent, sacred shrine : 

Twas then, all suddenly and unaware, 

Thou didst reveal, O maiden Love ! to me, 
This beautiful, singing, holy soul of thine. 



198 THE NEW DAY. 



V. 



"THY LOVER, LOVE, WOULD HAVE SOME 
NOBLER WAY." 

Thy lover, Love, would have some nobler way 
To tell his love, his noble love to tell, 
Than rhymes set ringing like a silver bell. 
Oh, he would lead an army, great and gay, 

From conquering to conquer, day by day ! 
And when the walls of a proud citadel 
At summons of his guns loud-echoing fell, — 
That thunder to his Love should murmuring say: 

Thee only do I love, dear Love of mine ! 

And while men cried : Behold how brave a fight ! 
She should read well, oh well ! each new emprise : 

This to her lips, this to my lady's eyes! 

And though the world were conquered, line on line, 
Still would his love seem speechless, day and night. 



THE NEW DAY. 



99 



VI. 

•WHAT WOULD I SAVE THEE FROM?" 

What would I save thee from, dear heart, dear heart ? 

Not from what Heaven may send thee of its pain; 

Not from fierce sunshine or the scathing rain : 

The pang of pleasure ; passion's wound and smart j 
Xot from the scorn and sorrow of thine art; 

Xor loss of faithful friends, nor any gain 

Of growth by grief. I would not thee restrain 

From needful death. But O, thou other part 
Of me ! — through whom the whole world I behold, 

As through the blue I see the stars above ! 

In whom the world I find, hid fold on fold! 
Thee would I save from this — nay, do not move! 

Fear not, it may not flash, the air is cold; 

Save thee from this — the lightning of my love. 



200 THE NEW DAY. 



VII. 



LOVE'S JEALOUSY. 

Of other men I know no jealousy, 

Nor of the maid who holds thee close, oh close! 
But of the June-red, summer-scented rose, 
And of the orange-streaked sunset sky 

That wins the soul of thee through thy deep eye ; 
And of the breeze by thee beloved, that goes 
O'er thy dear hair and brow; the song that flows 
Into thy heart of hearts, where it may die. 

I would I were one moment that sweet show 
Of flower ; or breeze beloved that toucheth all ; 
Or sky that through the summer eve doth burn. 

I would I were the song thou lovest so, 
At sound of me to have thine eyelid fall : 
But I would then to something human turn. 



THE NEW DAY. 201 



VIII. 

LOVE'S MONOTONE. 

Thou art so used, Love, to thine own bird's song,- 
Sung to thine ear in love's low monotone, 
Sung to thee only, Love, to thee alone 
Of all the listening world, — that I among 

My doubts find this the leader of the throng: 
Haply the music hath accustomed grown 
And no more music is to thee ; my own 
Too faithful argument works its own wrong. 

Ah Love, and must I learn for thy sweet sake 
The art of silence! Shut from me the light 
Of thy dear face then, lest the music wake! 

Yet should thy bird at last fall silent quite, 
Would not thy heart an unused sorrow take ? 
— Think not of me but of thyself to-night. 



202 THE NEW DAY. 



IX. 

"ONCE ONLY." 

Once only, Love, may love's sweet song be sung; 
But once, Love, at our feet love's flower is flung; 
Once, Love, once only, Love, can we be young : 
Say shall we love, dear Love, or shall we hate ! 

Once only, Love, will burn the blood-red fire; 
But once awakeneth the wild desire; 
Love pleadeth long, but what if Love should tire! 
Now shall we love, dear Love, or shall we wait 1 

The day is short, the evening cometh fast; 
The time of choosing, Love, will soon be past; 
The outer darkness falleth, Love, at last: 

Love, let us love ere it be late, — too late! 



THE NEW DA V. 203 



DENIAL. 

When some new thought of love in me is born 
Then swift I seek a token fair and meet 
That may unblamed thy blessed vision greet ; 
Whether it be a rose, not bloodless torn 

From that June tree which hideth many a thorn, 
Or but a simple, loving message, sweet 
With summer's heart and mine : these at thy feet 
I straightway fling — but all with maiden scorn 

Thou spurnest. What to thee is token or sign, 
Who dost deny the thing wherefor it stands ! 
Then I seem foolish in my sight and thine, 

Like one who eager proffers empty hands. 
Thou only callest these my gifts unfine, 
While men are praising them in distant lands. 



204 THE NEW DAY. 



XL 



"ONCE WHEN WE WALKED WITHIN A 
SUMMER FIELD." 

Once when we walked within a summer field 
I plucked the flower of immortality, 
And said, " Dear Love of mine, I give to thee 
This flower of flowers of all the round year's yield! " 

'Twas then thou stood'st, and with one hand didst 
shield 
Thy sun-dazed eyes, and, flinging the other free, 
Spurned from thee that white blossom utterly. 
But, Love! the immortal can not so be killed. 

The generations shall behold thee stand 

Against that western glow in grass dew- wet — 
Lord of my life, and lady of the land. 

Nor maid nor lover shall the world forget, 
Nor that disdainful wafture of thy hand. 
Thou scornful ! sun and flower shall find thee yet. 



THE NEW DAY. 205 



XII. 

SONG. 

I love her gentle forehead, 

And I love her tender hair; 
I love her cool, white arms, 

And her neck where it is bare. 

I love the smell of her garments; 

I love the touch of her hands; 
I love the sky above her, 

And the very ground where she stands. 

I love her doubting and anguish ; 

I love the love she withholds ; 
I love my love that loveth her 

And anew her being moulds. 



206 THE NEW DAY. 

XIII. 

LISTENING TO MUSIC. 

When on that joyful sea 

Where billow on billow breaks ; where swift waves 

follow 
Waves, and hollow calls to hollow; 
Where sea-birds swirl and swing. 
And winds through the rigging shrill and sing ; 
Where night is night without a shade; 
Where thy soul not afraid, 
Though all alone unlonely, 
Wanders and wavers, wavers wandering: — 
On that accursed sea 
One moment only, 

Forget one moment, Love, thy fierce content ; 
Back let thy soul be bent — 
Think back, dear Love, O Love, think back to me! 



THE NEW DAY. 207 



XIV. 

"A SONG OF THE MAIDEN MORN." 

A song of the maiden morn, 
A song for my little maid, 
Of the silver sunlight bom ! 

But I am afraid, afraid, 

When I come my maid may be 

Nothing, there, but a shade. 

But oh, her shadow is more to me 
Than the shadowless light of eternity! 



2o8 THE NEW DAY. 



XV. 

WORDS IN ABSENCE. 

I would that my words were as my fingers, 

So that my Love might feel them move 
Slowly over her brow, as lingers 

The sunset wind o'er the world of its love. 
I would that my words were as the beating 
Of her own heart, that keeps repeating 

My name through the livelong day and the night; 
And when my Love her lover misses — 

Longs for and loves in the dark and the light — 
I would that my words were as my kisses. 
I would that my words her life might fill, 

Be to her earth, and air, and skies. 
I would that my words were hushed and still — 

Lost in the light of her eyes. 



THE XEIV DAY. 



209 



XVI. 



SONG. 



The birds were singing, the skies were gay : 

I looked from the window on meadow and wood, 
On green, green grass that the sun made white; 
Beyond the river the mountain stood, — 

Blue was the mountain, the river was bright : 
I looked on the land and it was not good, 
For my own dear Love she had flown awav. 




2io THE NEW DAY. 



XVII. 

THISTLE-DOWN. 

Fly, thistle-down, fly 

From my lips to the lips that I love ! 

Fly through the morning light, 

Flee through the shadowy night, 

Oyer the sea and the land, 

Quick as the lark 

Through twilight and dark, 

Through lightning and thunder; 

Till no longer asunder 

We stand; 

For thy touch like the lips of her lover 

Moves her being to mine, — 

We are one in a swoon divine! 

Fly, thistle-down, fly 

From my lips to the lips that I love ! 



THE XEW DAY. 



Will. 



"O SWEET WILD ROSES THAT BUD AND 
BLOW." 

O sweet wild roses that bud and blow 
Along the way that my Love may go; 
O moss-green rocks that touch her dress, 
And grass that her dear feet may press; 

() maple tree whose brooding shade 
For her a summer tent has made; 
O golden-rod and brave sun-flower 
That flame before my maiden's bower : 

O butterfly on whose light wings 
The golden summer sunshine clings; 
O birds that flit o'er wheat and wall, 
And from cool hollows pipe and call ; 

O falling water whose distant roar 
Sounds like the waves upon the shore; 



212 THE NEW DAY. 

O winds that down the valley sweep, 
And lightnings from the clouds that leap; 

O skies that bend above the hills, 

O gentle rains and babbling rills, 

O moon and sun that beam and burn— 

Keep safe my Love till I return! 



THE NEW DAY. 213 

XIX. 

THE RIVER. 

I know thou art not that brown mountain-side, 
Nor the pale mist that lies along the hills 
And with white joy the deepening valley fills; 
Nor yet the solemn river moving wide 

Into that valley, where the hills abide 

But whence those morning clouds on noiseless 

wheels 
Shall lingering lift and, as the moonlight steals 
From out the heavens, so into the heavens shall 
glide. 

I know thou art not this gray rock that looms 
Above the water, fringed with scarlet vine; 
Nor flame of burning meadow; nor the sedge 

That sways and trembles at the river's edge. 

But through all these, dear heart ! to me there comes 
Some melancholy, absent look of thine. 



14 THE NEW DAY. 



XX. 

THE LOVER'S LORD AND MASTER. 

I pray thee, dear, think not alone of me, 

But think sometimes of my great master, Love; 
His faithful slave he is so far above 
That for his sake I would forgotten be: 

Though well I know that hidden thus from thee 
Not far away my image then might rove, 
And his sweet, heavenly countenance would move 
Ever thy soul to gentler charity : 

So when thy lover's self leaps from his song, 
Thou him might love not less for his fair Lord. 
But that thy love for me grow never small 

(As bow long bent twangs not the arrowed cord, 
And he doth lose his star who looks too long), 
Sometimes, dear heart, think not of me at all. 



THE NEW DAY. 215 



XXI. 

" A NIGHT OF STARS AND DREAMS." 

A night of stars and dreams, of dreams and sleep; 

A waking into another empty day — 

But not unlovely all, for then I say, 

•• To-morrow! " Through the hours this light doth 
creep 
Higher in the heavens, as down the heavenly steep 

Sinks the slow sun. Another evening gray, 

Made glorious by the morn that comes that way; 

Another night, and then To-day doth leap 
Upon the world ! Oh quick the hours do fly, 

Of that new day which brings the moment when 

We meet at last ! Swift up the shaking sky 
Rushes the sun from out its dismal den; 

And then the wished for time doth yearn more nigh, 

A white robe glimmering in the dark — and then! 



216 THE NEW DAY. 



XXII. 

A BIRTHDAY SONG. 

I thought this day to bring to thee 
A flower that grows on the red rose tree. 
I searched the branches, — oh, despair I 
Of roses every branch was bare. 

I thought to sing thee a birthday song 
As wild as my love, as deep and strong. 
The song took wing like a frightened bird, 
And its music my maiden never heard. 

But, Love ! the flower and the song divine 
One day of the year shall yet be thine; 
And thou shalt be glad when the rose I bring, 
And weep for joy at the song I sing. 



THE NEW DAY. 



XXIII. 

WHAT CAN LOVE DO FOR THEE, LOVE 

What can love do for thee, Love? 

Can it make the green fields greener; 

Bluer the skies, and bluer 

The eyes of the blue-eyed flowers? 

Can it make the May-day showers 

More warm and sweet; serener 

The heavens after the rain ? 

The sunset's radiant splendor 

More exquisite and tender — 

The Northern Star more sure ? 

Can it take the pang from pain ? 

(O Love ! remember the curtain 

Of cloud that lifted last night 

And showed the silver light 

Of a star!) Can it make more certain 

The heart of the heart of all — 

3° 



218 



THE NEW DAY. 



The good that works at the root — 

The singing soul of love 

That throbs in flower and fruit, 

In man and earth and brute, 

In hell, and heaven above ? 

Can its low voice musical 

Make dear the day and the night? 




THE NEW DAY. 219 



XXIV. 

FRANCESCA AND PAOLO. 

Within the second dolorous circle where 

The lost are whirled, lamenting — thou and I 
Stood, Love, to-day with Dante. Silently 
We looked upon the black and trembling air: 

When lo ! from out that darkness of despair 
Two shadows light upon the wind drew nigh, 
Whose very motion seemed to breathe a sigh : 
And there Francesca, and her lover there. 

These when we saw, the wounds whereat they bled, 
Their love which was not with their bodies slain — 
These when we saw, great were the tears we shed : 

As. Love, for thee and me love's tears shall rain — 
The mortal agony, the nameless dread; 
The longing, and the passion, and the pain. 



220 THE NEW DAY. 



XXV. 
THE UNKNOWN WAY. 

Two travellers met upon a plain 

Where two straight, narrow pathways crossed; 

They met and, with a still surprise, 

They looked into each other's eyes 

And knew that never, oh, never again! 

Could one from the other soul be lost. 

But lo! these narrow pathways lead 
Now each from each apart, and lo! 
In neither pathway can they go 
Together, in their new, strange need. 

Far-off the purple mountains loom — 
Vague and far-off, and fixed as fate — 
Which hide from sight that land unknown 
Where, ever, like a carven stone 
The setting sun doth stand and wait, 



THE NEW DAY. 221 

And men cry not, " Too late ! too late ! " 
And sorrow turns to a golden gloom. 

But oh, the long journey all unled 
By track of traveller o'er the plain — 
The stony desert, bleak and rude, 
The bruised feet and the tired brain : 
And oh, the two-fold solitude, 
The doubt, the danger and the dread! 



THE NEW DAY. 



XXVI. 
THE SOWER. 



A Sower went forth to sow, 

His eyes were dark with woe; 

He crushed the flowers beneath his feet. 

Nor smelt the perfume, warm and sweet, 

That prayed for pity everywhere. 

He came to a field that was harried 

By iron, and to heaven laid bare: 

He shook the seed that he carried 

O'er that brown and bladeless place. 

He shook it, as God shakes hail 

Over a doomed land, 

When lightnings interlace 

The sky and the earth, and his wand 

Of love is a thunder-flail. 



THE NEW DAY. 223 

Thus did that Sower sow; 
His seed was human blood, 
And tears of women and men. 
And I, who near him stood, 
Said : When the crop comes, then 
There will be sobbing and sighing, 
Weeping and wailing and crying, 
Flame, and ashes, and woe. 



IL 

It was an autumn day 

When next I went that way. 

And what, think you, did I see, — 

What was it that I heard, — 

What music was in the air? 

The song of a sweet- voiced bird? 

Nay — but the songs of many, 

Thrilled through with praise and prayer c 

Of all those voices not any 

Were sad of memory : 

But a sea of sunlight flowed, 

And a golden harvest glowed ! 



22 4 



THE NEW DAY. 



And I said : Thou only art wise— 
God of the earth and skies ! 
And I thank thee, again and again, 
For the Sower whose name is Pain. 




THE X£H r DAY. 



225 



XXV II. 

"WHEN THE LAST DOUBT IS DOUBTED.' 

When the last doubt is doubted, 
The last black shadow flown ; 
When the last foe is routed; 

When the night is over and gone : 
Then, Love, oh then! there will be rest and peace: 
Sweet peace and rest that never thou hast known. 

When the hope that in thee moveth 

Is born and brought to sight ; 

When past is the pain that proveth 

The worth of thy new delight: 

Oh then, Love ! then there will be joy and peace : 

Deep peace and joy, bright morning after night. 



3' 



INTERLUDE, 




AS melting snow leaves bare the mountain-side 
In spaces that grow wider and more wide, 
So melted from the sky the cloudy veil 
That hid the face of sunrise. Land and ledge 
And waste of glittering waters sent a glare 
Back to the smiting sun. The trembling air 
Lay, sea on sea, along the horizon's edge; 
And on that upper ocean, clear as glass, 
The tall ships followed with deep-mirrored sail 
Like clouds wind-moved that follow and that pass; 
And on that upper ocean, far and fair, 
Floated low islands all unseen before. 
Green grew the ocean shaken through with light, 

And blue the heavens faint-flecked with plumy white. 

229 



230 THE NEW DAY, 

Like pennants on the wind, from o'er the rocks 
The birds whirled seaward in shrill-piping flocks: 
And through the dawn, as through the shadowy night, 
The sound of waves that break upon the shore ! 



PART IV, 







M 






15*7 



SONG. 

LOVE, Love, my love, 
The best things are the truest! 
When the earth lies shadowy dark below 

Oh then the heavens are bluest! 
Deep the blue of the sky, 

And sharp the gleam of the stars, 
And oh, more bright against the night 
The Aurora's crimson bars! 



233 



234 THE NEW DAY. 



II. 

THE MIRROR. 

That I should love thee seemeth meet and wise, 
So beautiful thou art that he were mad 
Who in thy countenance no pleasure had; 
Who felt not the still music of thine eyes 

Fall on his forehead, as the evening skies 
The music of the stars feel and are glad. 
But o'er my mind one doubt still cast a shade 
Till in my thoughts this answer did arise : 

That thou shouldst love me is not wise or meet, 
For like thee, Love, I am not beautiful. 
And yet I think that haply in my face 

Thou findest a true beauty — this poor, dull, 
Disfigured mirror dimly may repeat 
A little part of thy most heavenly grace. 



THE XEW DAY. 235 



III. 

LIKENESS IN UNLIKENESS. 

We are alike, and yet — oh strange and sweet! — 
Each in the other difference discerns: 
So the torn strands the maiden's finger turns 
Opposing ways, when they again do meet 

Clasp each in each, as flame clasps into heat; 
So when my hand on my cool bosom burns, 
Each sense is lost in the other. So two urns 
Do, side by side, the self-same lines repeat, 

But various color gives a lovelier grace, 

And each by contrast still more fine has grown. 
Thus, Love, it was, I did forget thy face 

As more and more to me thy soul was known; 
Vague in my mind it grew till, in its place, 
Another came I knew not from my own. 



236 



THE NEW DAY. 



IV. 

SONG. 

Not from the whole wide world I chose thee- 
Sweetheart, light of the land and the sea ! 

The wide, wide world could not inclose thee, 
For thou art the whole wide world to me. 




THE NEW DAY. 237 

V. 

ALL IN ONE. 

Once when a maiden maidenly went by, 
Or when I found some wonder in the grass, 
Or when a purple sunset slow did pass, 
Or a great star rushed silent through the sky ; 

Once when 1 heard a singing ecstasy, 

Or saw the moon's face in the river's glass — 
Then I remembered that for me, alas! 
This beauty must for ever and ever die 

But now I may thus sorrow never more; 

From fleeting beauty thou hast torn the pall, 
For of all beauty, Love, thou art the core; 

And though the empty shadow fading fall, — 

Though lesser birds lift up their wings and soar, — 
In having thee alone, Love, I have all. 



238 THE NEW DAY. 



VI. 



"I COUNT MY TIME BY TIMES THAT I 
MEET THEE." 

I count my time by times that I meet thee; 

These are my yesterdays, my morrows, noons 

And nights; these my old moons and my new 
moons. 

Slow fly the hours, or fast the hours do flee, 
If thou art far from or art near to me : 

If thou art far, the birds' tunes are no tunes ; 

If thou art near, the wintry days are Junes, — 

Darkness is light, and sorrow cannot be. 
Thou art my dream come true, and thou my dream, 

The air I breathe, the world wherein I dwell; 

My journey's end thou art, and thou the way ; 
Thou art what I would be, yet only seem; 

Thou art my heaven and thou art my hell; 

Thou art my ever-living judgment day. 



THE NEW DAW 



231 



VII. 

SONG. 

Years have flown since I knew thee first, 
And I know thee as water is known of thirst: 
Yet I knew thee of old at the first sweet sight, 
And thou art strange to me, Love, to-night. 




240 THE NEW DA Y 

VIII. 

THE SEASONS. 

strange Spring days, when from the shivering 

ground 
Love riseth, wakening from his dreamful swound 
And, frightened, in the stream his face hath found! 

O Summer days, when Love hath grown apace, 

And feareth not to look upon Love's face, 

And lightnings burn where earth and sky embrace ! 

O Autumn, when the winds are dank and dread, 
How brave above the dying and the dead 
The conqueror, Love, uplifts his banner red ! 

O Winter, when the earth lies white and chill ! 
Now only hath strong Love his perfect will 
Whom heat, nor cold, nor death can bind nor kill. 



THE NEW DAY. 24: 



IX. 

"SUMMER'S RAIN AND WINTER'S SNOW. 

Simmer's rain and winter's snow 
With the seasons come and go; 

Shine and shower; 
Tender bud and perfect flower; 
Silver blossom, golden fruit; 

Song and lute, 
With their inward sound of pain : 
Winter's snow and summer's rain; 

Frost and fire ; 
Joy beyond the heart's desire, — 
And our June comes round again. 



33 



242 THE NEW DAY. 



X. 

THE VIOLIN. 

Before the listening world behold him stand, 
The warm air trembles with his passionate play; 
Their cheers shower round him like the ocean spray 
Round one who waits upon the stormy strand. 

Their smiles, sighs, tears all are at his command : 
And now they hear the trump of judgment bray, 
And now one silver note to heaven doth stray 
And fluttering fall upon the golden sand. 

But like the murmur of the distant sea 

Their loud applause, and far off, faint and weak 
Sounds his own music to him, wild and free— 

Far from the soul of music that doth speak 
In wordless wail and joyful ecstasy 
From that good viol pressed against his cheek. 



THE NEW DAY. 243 



XI. 

"MY SONGS ARE ALL OF THEE." 

My songs are all of thee, what though I sing 
Of morning when the stars are yet in sight, 
Of evening, or the melancholy night, 
Of birds that o'er the reddening waters wing; 

Of song, of fire, of winds, or mists that cling 
To mountain-tops, of winter all in white, 
Of rivers that toward ocean take their flight, 
Of summer when the rose is blossoming. 

I think no thought that is not thine, no breath 
Of life I breathe beyond thy sanctity ; 
Thou art the voice that silence uttereth, 

And of all sound thou art the sense. From thee 
The music of my song, and what it saith 
Is but the beat of thy heart, throbbed through me. 



244 THE NEW DAY. 



XII. 

AFTER MANY DAYS. 

Dear heart, I would that after many days, 
When we are gone, true lovers in a book 
Might find these faithful songs of ours. " O look ! " 
I hear him murmur while he straightway lays 

His finger on the page, and she doth raise 
Her eyes to his. Then, like the winter brook 
From whose young limbs a sudden summer shook 
The fetters, love flows on in sunny ways. 

I would that when we are no more, dear heart, 
The world might hold thy unforgotten name 
Inviolate in these still living rhymes. 

I would have poets say, " Let not the art 

Wherewith they loved be lost! To us the blame 
Should love grow less in these our modern times." 



THE NEW DAY. 



-4, 



XIII. 

WEAL AND WOE. 

O highest, strongest, sweetest woman-soul! 

Thou holdest in the compass of thy grace 

All the strange fate and passion of thy race ; 

Of the old, primal curse thou knowest the whole: 
Thine eyes, too wise, are heavy with the dole. 

The doubt, the dread of all this human maze; 

Thou in the virgin morning of thy days 

Hast felt the bitter waters o'er thee roll. 
Vet thou knowest, too, the terrible delight, 

The still content, and solemn ecstasy ; 

Whatever sharp, sweet bliss thy kind may know. 
Thy spirit is deep for pleasure as for woe — 

Deep as the rich, dark-caverned, awful sea 

That the keen-winded, glimmering dawn makes 
white. 



246 THE NEW DAY. 



XIV. 



" OH, LOVE IS NOT A SUMMER MOOD." 



Oh, Love is not a summer mood, 
Nor flying phantom of the brain, 

Nor youthful fever of the blood, 

Nor dream, nor fate, nor circumstance. 
Love is not born of blinded chance, 
Nor bred in simple ignorance. 



Love is the flower of maidenhood; 
Love is the fruit of mortal pain; 

And she hath winter in her blood. 

True love is steadfast as the skies, 
And once alight she never flies ; 
And love is strong, and love is wise. 



THE NEW DAY. 247 



XV. 
LOVE IS NOT BOND TO ANY MAN. 



Love is not bond to any man, 
Nor slave of woman, howso fair. 

Love knows no architect nor plan : 
She is a lawless wanderer, 
She hath no master over her, 
And loveth not her worshipper. 



But though she knoweth law nor plan — 
Though she is free as light and air — 

Love was a slave since time began. 

Lo, now, behold a wondrous thing: 
Though . from stone walls she taketh wing, 
Love may be led by a silken string. 



248 THE NEW DAY. 

XVI. 

"HE KNOWS NOT THE PATH OF DUTY.' 

He knows not the path of duty 
Who says that the way is sweet; 

But he who is blind to the beauty, 
And finds but thorns for his feet. 

He alone is the perfect giver 

Who swears that his gift is nought ; 

And he is the sure receiver 

Who gains what he never sought. 

Heaven from the hopeless doubter 

The strong believer makes : 
Against the darkness outer 

The light God's likeness takes. 

Like the pale, cold moon above her 
With its heart of the heart of fire, 

My Love is the one true lover, 
And hers is the soul of desire. 



AFTER SONG. 



* N 



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J 



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